I often think back to that winter many years ago, when my motherinlaw burst in, eyes wide.
Is hehas he caught a cold? Whats his condition? she gasped. Hes asleep.
I tried to calm her. Just a slight fever, nothing serious. The seasons just begun.
She snapped, It isnt just the weather! Its your job that drags the drafts home from the shop! How many times must I tell you to change your line of work?
Eleanor was dozing when a sudden clatter echoed through the hallway someone had slammed the front door. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes, glanced at the clock, and saw it was only eight in the morning.
Oliver, love, is that you? she called, straining to hear any other sounds in the flat.
No answer came, only the soft rustle of a bathroom door opening and then silence.
She threw on a housecoat, slipped barefoot into the bathroom and threw open the door. There, standing by the mirror, was Oliver, his lips pursed as he admired the pale tip of his tongue.
Eleanor, is it true that a person with a cold gets a white tongue? he asked.
Are you saying youre ill? she replied, halfasleep.
Possibly, he said, touching his forehead with a worried hand. I need a thermometer. Where did we put it? Let me lie down. Theyve let me off work, but I think Ill need a doctor soon.
She fetched the mercury thermometer. It read thirtyseven point two degrees Celsius roughly ninetynine point nine Fahrenheit. The winter had set in, and Oliver settled back onto the bed. A doctor visited an hour later, handed out a sick note, and sent them on their way.
Eleanor rang her mother.
Could you pick up little Thomas from nursery? He cant come home Olivers under the weather.
Her mother, who lived alone and adored her grandson, was delighted.
Is anything serious with Oliver? she asked.
No, nothing alarming. The doctor gave us a note, prescribed a few simple treatments, and well rest.
How are you holding up? her mother pressed.
Im fine! I still have a second shift at work, and Ill ask my motherinlaw to drop by this evening to check on Oliver.
And so the next seven days were spent in the second shift, the routine of a wintertime illness.
Eleanor needed a light chicken broth, so she set off for the corner shop and the pharmacy. She fetched a few chicken thighs from the freezer, bought carrots and potatoes, and collected the necessary medicines. At lunch she roused her husband.
Oliver, get up and have some soup, she urged, shaking his shoulder.
He perched on the edge of the bed, looking pale.
I feel a bit nauseous. Could you bring the soup to me? I cant make it to the kitchen.
Dont be dramatic, she replied, fetching the bowl. Take your temperature afterwards.
He ate, she measured again still thirtyseven point two. She gave him a couple of tablets. He turned his face toward the wall and drifted back to sleep. Thank heavens.
In their household, a sick pay was fully covered for a husband, but Eleanors own earnings barely stretched to cover the grocery bills. The familys mortgage left no room for a prolonged illness. She called her motherinlaw again.
Agnes, Olivers ill. If you could keep an eye on him this evening, it would help. We usually have a lot of customers at night, and I cant get through to him.
Has he caught a cold? Whats his state? Agnes shouted, flustered.
Hes lying down, temperature only a touch high, all right, the winters just begun.
Winters no excuse! Your job brings the chill home, thats why hes down. How many times must I beg you to change your work?
Agnes, Im not weak! Eleanor protested. You yourself said Oliver could drop sick at a moments notice as a child. The frost is here, so I have nothing else to do
She cut the conversation short; Agnes liked to turn a molehill into a mountain, and within the hour she was likely to be at their door with a basket of herbal remedies for her grandson. Let her look after him, Eleanor thought, I must still get ready for my shift.
Sure enough, Agnes arrived with crates of dried herbs, insisting they might help. She fussed over the change of a damp shirt, bellowing,
Look how youve left him in a wet shirt! Hell only get worse. How could you miss that?
He was already asleep, Agnes. What could I have done? Eleanor replied.
She left for work, but after a few hours the cold seeped into her bones. She was weak, yet she could not show it; she had to finish her shift. That evening her temperature rose higher than Olivers. She wanted to complain, but he was preoccupied with his own misery.
My throats raw, Mum gave me tea with honey and gooseberries. It helped a little, but by night I felt worse again. What should I take?
Honestly, Im feeling poorly too, Oliver admitted.
Then take something, he said, glancing at his own pale tongue in the mirror. Its still white, after all.
She knew she could not afford to fall ill; complaining would only bring a chorus of advice from her mother or accusations from Agnes, while Oliver would remain on his own tide.
The decision was made: swallow the pills quietly and keep working. The mortgage would not wait.
All week Oliver clung to his frailty, insisting he felt terrible even though the thermometer stubbornly read thirtyseven. Agnes visited often with her infusions, and Eleanor dreaded each encounter.
Olivers attention drifted between the television and his phone. Each time Eleanor checked his temperature, the fourth day finally showed a normal reading.
His weakness lingered, but they managed. Oliver lay longer, demanding food in bed, temperature checks, and a drink every hour. Agnes claimed he had often been weak as a child, and now, after five years of marriage, he finally caught a cold an ordeal she described as unbearable.
He battled the mild ailment with a constant stream of complaints. The following week the doctor cleared him. Thomas was taken home, and Oliver was to return to work the next day.
Sitting at the kitchen table with an evening tea, Oliver mused,
Back when I was a boy, everything seemed easier. Now Ive gone through this, and you wouldnt believe it.
Whats so special about it? Eleanor asked. Why couldnt you just tough it out?
Youd have to be in my shoes to know! Easy to say when youre healthy.
I was healthy too! You just didnt notice.
Oliver gave her a skeptical glance, then smirked as if hed caught her in a joke.
Alright, lets get to bed.
Eleanor sighed, Yes, he never really noticed
And so it was. As the old saying goes, only a woman who has endured childbirth can truly grasp what a husband feels when his temperature hovers at thirtyseven.
