November 18, 2018

Curse of the Common Cold

My son was sick over the weekend and called to say he wanted to come home. I immediately made enough matzo ball soup for an army, and happily took care of him for 3 days. I laid down with him to watch TV, picked up all his used tissues, and sat with him as he ate soup while sneezing like it was his job. While I was of course sad he got such a bad cold, it was my pleasure to take care of him.

 

I love it when he comes home. I sleep better when he is here. Food tastes better when we are eating together. I laugh nonstop when he is here. I love him to bits and now that he is older and out on his own, I miss him so much it hurts. Do I sometimes sleep in his room just because? Yes. Yes, I do. He is my favorite human being. He is also the person who has now left me saddled with a cold.

 

He is thankfully now feeling much better, and by the end of the week will be back to 100%. I on the other hand, am sick. I cannot breathe out of my nose, and when I do manage to clear it enough to breathe, it feels like the breathes are firing straight into my brain. My throat hurts, I am achy, and I just want to sleep. That is sadly not an option until the weekend, so I am pushing through.

 

When my son got sick he received 5 Star treatment. I’m sitting on the couch, in the clothes I wore to work, wrapped in a blanket, trying to muster up strength to heat up a can of soup. I will end up passing on the soup, falling asleep on the couch, waking up in the middle of the night, eating crackers, making a cup of tea, having a little cry, falling back asleep, then getting up for work.

 

I’m hoping it’s a 24-hour-cold-not-really-a-cold-just-a-smidge-of-a-bug situation, but I fear I won’t get lucky on that wish. I have a cold, feel like crap, and have been unable to train the cat to make me soup or get me tissues. This too shall pass, but it’s rough. Being sick on your own is a blessing and a curse. There is nobody to judge my pathetic self, but also nobody to take care of me.

 

I wish my mom was here. She takes good care of me. She’d cook for me, play with my hair, draw me a bath, and tell me I look beautiful, even though we both know I look like garbage. I need to drag myself off the couch, take out my contact lenses before they permanently attach to my eyeballs, get a fresh box of tissues, and go to bed. I may be sick, but I am still keeping the faith.