Is he just a bit under the weather? What state is he in? my motherinlaw gasped, peering into the bedroom. Hes lying there as if asleep. I shrugged. Its only a slight fever, nothing seriousjust the cold snap setting in.
But it isnt just the cold! Its your job, you keep bringing home all sorts of rubbish from the shop till! How many times have I told you to find a different line of work?
Ethel was dozing when a sudden bang sounded at the front door. She rubbed her eyes, glanced at the clock, and saw it was only eight in the morning.
Peter, love, is that you? she asked, surprised, listening for any other noises in the flat.
There was no answer, only the faint creak of someone opening the bathroom door.
Ethel threw on a housecoat, slipped barefoot into the bathroom, and threw open the door. She stopped dead.
There I stood, right by the mirror, my lips pulled into a grin, tongue lolling out.
Ethel, is it true that a person with a cold gets a white tongue? I asked.
Are you saying youre ill? she murmured sleepily.
Probably, I replied, touching my forehead worriedly. I need a thermometer. Wheres it? Let me lie down. Ive been given the day off, but I think we should call a doctor.
She fetched the thermometer. It read 37.2°C. There we go, the colds here, I said, collapsing onto the bed. A doctor arrived an hour later, signed a sick note, and sent me off to rest.
I dialed my motherinlaw.
Could you pick Sam up from nursery? He cant come homePeters under the weather.
She was delighted; she adored her grandson, lived alone, and Sam was her joy.
What about Peter? Anything serious?
No, nothing dramatic. The doctor gave a note, prescribed a few things, and well take it easy.
How are you holding up? she asked.
Fine, actually. I still have a second shift at work, so Ill ask my motherinlaw to drop by this evening and check on Peter. Thatll be the whole week, second shift. Thanks, mum, well manage.
What to do now? I needed a light chicken broth soup, so I had to dash to the shop after the chemist. I grabbed a few chicken thighs from the freezer, a bag of carrots and some potatoes.
At the pharmacy I picked up everything we needed. Later, at lunch, I nudged my husband awake.
Peter, get up and have some soup, I said, shaking his shoulder.
Halfasleep, he sat up on the bed.
Ah, I feel a bit nauseous! Could you bring the soup to me? I cant make it to the kitchen.
Is it that bad? Alright, Ill bring it. I handed him the bowl, and he measured his temperature againstill 37.2°C. I gave him some tablets. He turned his face to the wall and slipped back into sleep. Thank goodness.
In our household, a mans sick leave is fully paid, but for me, a cashier, its a different story. With the mortgage and other loans, I cant afford to be ill. I called my motherinlaw again.
Inga Whitaker, Peters ill. Could you keep an eye on him this evening? We usually have a lot of customers then, and I cant reach him.
How can he be ill? Whats his condition? she exclaimed.
Hes lying there, but its just a low fever, the colds starting.
Thats not just the cold! Its your line of work, bringing home all that junk from the till! How many times have I told you to find a different job?
Inga, Im not frail! You yourself said Peter used to drop to his bed instantly as a child. The frost has set in, so Im not needed here
To end the chatter, I cut her off quickly. Inga liked to make a mountain out of a molehill and would probably be at my door within the hour. Let her have a lookafter all, I needed to get ready for my shift.
Sure enough, she arrived with boxes of assorted herbal teas for my son, claiming they might help. She fussed over him, swapping his damp shirt for a dry one, shouting,
Look at him, lying there in a wet shirthell get worse! How did you miss that?
He was asleep already, Inga, what could I have done?
I headed to work. A few hours later I felt weak myself. Well, look at thatI’m ill too! I thought, but I couldnt show any sign of it; the shift had to be covered. In the evening I checked my temperaturehigher than Peters. I wanted to complain, but he was occupied with his own misery.
My throats sore, and Im shivering. Mum gave me tea with raspberries and honey; it helped a bit, but by nightfall I felt awful again. What should I take?
Youre not the only one feeling poorly, I heard Peter mutter, glancing at his pale tongue in the mirror. Its still white, so the fevers still there.
I couldnt fall ill, not with the bills looming. Complaining to anyone would just bring more advicemy mother would call every five minutes, the motherinlaw would scold, and Peter would stay in his own world.
We decided to keep quiet, take the pills quietly, and keep working. The loans werent going anywhere.
All week Peter wallowed in his weakness, insisting he felt terrible even though the thermometer stubbornly read 37°C. The motherinlaw kept dropping off her concoctions and infusions. I dreaded seeing her at home; she made my life feel bleak.
Peter barely noticed anythinghed fall asleep in front of the telly or on his phone. When I came home, I measured his temperature, and only by the fourth day did it settle to normal.
The weakness lingered, but we managed. Peter stayed in bed longer, demanding meals delivered to him, temperature checks, and a drink on request.
His motherinlaw claimed hed always been a weak child, and now, after five years of marriage, this was his first real coldunbearable, she declared.
He trudged through the mild illness, constantly whining about how miserable he felt.
The following week the doctor cleared him, Sam was collected from nursery, and Peter was back at work the next day.
That evening, sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of tea, Peter said,
When we were kids, everything seemed easier to get through. Now Ive gone through this, and you cant imagine!
Whats so special about it? I asked, concerned.
Youd never know unless you were in my shoes! Easy to talk when youre healthy.
I was! Ive been there too, but you just didnt see it, I replied.
Peter gave me a skeptical look, then a sly grin, as if hed caught me in a joke.
Ah, youre joking, arent you? Fine, lets head to bed.
I sighed, resigned, Yes, he never really noticed
And thats how it iswhen a wife is pregnant, only she can truly understand what a husband feels with a temperature of 37°C.
