LIVING WITH A MAN COLD

I’m living with a man cold at the moment. 

Let me correct that statement: I am living with a man with a man cold at the moment.  Obviously there’s a difference.

So far I am still healthy.  Not even so much as a woman cold going on for me; I hope it stays that way.

Last weekend we both were called into grandparent duty.  He had volunteered way back to take one grandson to a hockey camp over this past weekend.  We had also made plans to meet the other grandsons’ family in Saskatoon at a waterslide hotel and exchange beef for elk when the respective butchers were done their work.  It came as no surprise to me that this also worked out to be on the same weekend.  Grandma and Grandpa were off on separate vacations.  Even though I drove through really bad road conditions both on the way there and the return trip it appears I still got the better end of the deal, though.  My set of kids was healthy.  Grandpa seems to have come home with the plague.

At least that’s what it sounds like from where I sit.  I have no intention of getting any closer to investigate further.

We both got home Sunday night.  I was tired and stressed from the bad roads, he was all tucked in under a blanket in his big chair.  Neither one of us was very hungry, I reheated some leftovers for me, he had a bowl of soup.  At bedtime he told me he didn’t feel very good.  Sure enough, he was running a fever.  He dosed up on Tylenol, plugged in the humidifier, and piled on the blankets. 

I don’t know if there has ever been actual clinical studies done on how much worse a man cold is than what we women power through, but there isn’t a household on the planet that hasn’t been the site of anecdotal observations to support the theory that men are not as tough as they think they are. 

I’m not saying that fevers aren’t bad, because they are.  And I know that they make your entire body ache, especially your joints, and believe me, this man has not taken such great care of his joints so he went into the fever with joints already looking for attention.  What I’m saying is that of the two of us, I’m more likely to suffer in silence, if you know what I mean.

Monday was no better for him.  I was up way before him and when he did make an appearance he only wanted a slice of toast and his blanket in his big chair again.  The fever burned on.  I made soup – something easy to heat up when we needed sustenance.  It might come in handy if I came down with the same disease.  I had to spend the afternoon getting warranty work done on my car.  He survived without me but I notice that the thermostat has been hiked up a couple notches so he must have moved from his chair at some point.

I treated him with some of the elk sausage for supper but he really is sick, he didn’t eat even half of a normal meal.  The dog approved of this turn of events. 

Whereas feeding the humans has been very light duty for me I find myself doing extra duty feeding the dragon instead.  We heat our shop with a wood burning stove.  Stoking this fire has become known as ‘feeding the dragon’.  The dragon’s dietary needs require a full meal every five or six hours and it’s not my job - except for when the man is away or incapacitated.  These past few days I’m getting so familiar with ‘the dragon’ I’m starting to think she deserves her own name.

Today the man is marginally better.  His fever is down but not quite gone.  We are now into the coughing stage.  He has a broken rib injury from way back that makes coughing extra hard on him so this stage isn’t going to be any fun either.

Meanwhile (knock on wood) I seem to be remaining healthy.  I have certainly been exposed to plenty of germs by now so I’m starting to hold out hope that whatever bug causes this plague was covered in the flu shot I went and got and he only talked about getting.

I don’t even want the woman version of this cold.