I don't do sick

I don't believe in being sick.  I might not feel well.  I might have allergies.  I may even have picked up a bug.  But I am not sick.  Don't mind that I cannot speak a full sentence without erupting into a coughing fit, and ignore the wads of tissue shoved into my pockets.  I'm told 37.9 degrees Celsius isn't really a fever.  (My kids screwed up the settings on our thermometer months ago.)  It's completely normal for me to spend my days in and out of sleep on my sofa while my children entertain themselves with permanent markers and lip gloss.  Really, I am not sick.

I'm a mom.  I don't get sick days, especially when Jelly can't come home to relieve me.  (For those of you not in the Air Force, Jelly is my husband's call sign. I'll explain another time.) Let's just say my allergies have been on high alert the last few days, but I'm on the mend.  I even ventured out into the real world tonight to pick up groceries.  I couldn't bring myself to serve pizza and/or macaroni and cheese one more time, so I placed my order online for curbside pickup from Rice Epicurean Market.  (By the way, I highly recommend this service, and it's free.)  I don't shop for groceries with all three of my kids in tow even when I'm feeling good, so this was a big step for me.

I don't do sick.  Maybe it's because I was sick quite a bit as a child.  Nothing particularly serious...just enough to warrant missing school for weeks at a time and to prompt my pediatrician to propose a toast at my wedding.  I know how miserable it is to be sick, so I decided a long time ago that it wasn't for me.

Unfortunately, I don't let anyone else do sick either (unless you're my child).  Ask my husband.  He'll be the first to tell you that I am the world's worst nurse.  If you're sick under my care, you take your meds and get in bed.  When I ask if there's anything I can get you, I don't really want an answer.  I just want you to sleep and wake up healthy.

The last time Jelly was sick happened the week before he left for Iraq.  He'd just received six immunizations for anthrax and other military-type stuff, and all those tiny little antibodies didn't mix well.  So I gave him some Motrin and put him to bed.  (For the record, I did go out at midnight and pick up a prescription for Tamiflu just in case this was H1N1.  I'd hate for him to go DNIF right before he deploys, right?)  The next day, he asks for chicken soup.  Seriously?  Does Lipton Cup-O-Soup count?  Turns out, it does.

So now I sit and type at one in the morning because I slept sixteen hours today.  I think I might just grab a brownie and watch some late-night tv. I'll just ignore the fact that I can't taste the chocolaty goodness, nor can I hear the tv because of my clogged ears. You see, I am not sick.

Then again, maybe I'll just take my meds and go to bed.