January 23, 2018 -       FLU in the house

         It has been several years since either my husband or I have been struck down by the flu and I mean “struck-down” literally.  My husband might have had the flu about four or five times in his lifetime and he only acted like he had a miserable cold that was longer and kept up with daily life.  Me, I got it sometimes once or twice a year consistently when I was out in the working world, even when I got the flu shot. I would crawl into bed with the mental wish to die I felt so bad.  Now that I am no longer out in the public daily, I get it less often.

         My husband had a doctor’s appointment Friday morning and I accompanied him as his “hearing-guide-wife”.  He no longer hears the questions the doctor asks, yet he nods assent or agreement when the doctor asks the questions.  I’ve been tagging along now for the last six years or so and it is interesting to watch the doctor and the husband in there “non-communication mode” until I speak up.

         After the first four questions shot across the bow are missed by my husband, I speak loudly to my husband and repeat the doctor’s question.  That is when the doctor remembers – Oh Yeah, he has a hearing problem. Then the doctor’s questions are direct and loud and he moves to stand directly in front of his patient hoping he will have better luck being heard by one of his patient’s two ears.  [Why doesn’t he just ask the patient, “Which side do you hear well on?”]

         My mild mannered husband, doesn’t want to admit he doesn’t hear the questions.  I always mention to the intake nurse that I am along because my husband doesn’t hear well, and say, “Please mark his file.”  Sometimes that helps, sometimes it doesn’t.

         When the doctor said, “We will keep an eye on that, the blood tests will tell us if it is progressing.”  I spoke up and asked a question,

         “So, are there any symptoms for that, anything that he or I should be looking for, or possible dietary changes?”

          “No, actually there are no symptoms.” He said with a look that I had the audacity to ask such a question? 

         As we were leaving, the doctor told my husband, “When the blood work gets back, I’ll phone you.”  Then he paused and looked at me. “I guess I’ll phone you and you can convey it to him, then?” 

“Yes, that will be perfect,” I said smiling sweetly. The doctor finally understood my “hearing-guide-wife” role.

Even not touching anything at the doctor’s office and washing our hands as soon as we got home, my husband came down with the flu that evening.  It came fast and hard and he says it is the worst he has ever experienced.

I’m doing the extra blanket thing, the medicine thing, the making sure he has enough liquids, etc., but this flu has knocked him flat.  I’ve never seen him sacked out on the couch curled up in blankets and a hot water bottle in my life time.

The first few hours I just sat and read to stay quiet, because housekeeping is noisy. Next, I thought I have to cook something for him to eat.  I suggested homemade Butternut squash soup.  He hemmed and hawed a bit and said, “Yeah, I might eat some.”

Of course, cooking with love, hoping the end product would make him feel better, I was only a few feet away from where he was trying to catch a nap on the couch. I am in the kitchen peeling the squash and dicing it.  Then I peel and dice some shallots.  I get pans out as quietly as possible and even I realize how loud I am when I am trying to be quiet.

“How can a person nap when you are making so much noise?” he calls.

“I’ll be quieter . . .” I say as the utensils and pans are out, all the dicing done, and I'm on to the quieter cooking part.

I put the diced squash in the steamer. I put the lid on ever so quietly and reach for my kitchen timer to set it for 20 minutes.

By routine, I simply start to twist it when I realize – heck, it will wake him up.  I try to shift it back to zero, but it still rings incessantly for almost a minute – even when I quickly wad a dishtowel over it trying to muffle the sound.

I hear a coughing, “Must you?”

“Oops, sorry ‘bout that,”  I cringe.