Is he ill? Whats his condition? the motherinlaw exclaimed, eyes widening. Hes just sleeping. The temperatures only a little up, its fine winters finally started.
Winters no excuse, love! You keep bringing home all that junk from the shop! Ive told you a hundred times: change your job!
Eleanor was dozing when a sudden bang jolted her awake someone had opened the front door. She rubbed her eyes, glanced at the bedside clock, and saw it was only eight in the morning.
Oliver, dear, is that you? she asked, listening for any other sounds in the flat.
No answer came. She heard only the soft click of a bathroom door closing and then silence.
She threw on a housecoat, stepped barefoot into the bathroom, and flung the door open.
There stood Oliver, staring at his own reflection, his lips pulled back to show a pale tongue.
Eleanor, is it true that when a person is ill their tongue turns white? he asked, halfsmiling.
Are you saying youre ill? Eleanor replied, still halfasleep.
Seems so, Oliver said, touching his forehead worriedly. I need a thermometer. Where is it? Let me lie down. Theyve let me off work already. We may have to call a doctor.
Eleanor fetched the thermometer. It read 37.2°C. Just a bit of a chill, she said, the cold has settled in, so Oliver can rest. A doctor arrived an hour later, gave a sick note, and sent them on their way.
Eleanor dialed her mother:
Could you pick up Sam from nursery? He cant come home Olivers under the weather.
Her mother, delighted to see her grandson, said, Of course, love. Hes my sunshine.
Is Oliver doing alright? Anything serious?
Nothing major. The doctor gave us the sick note and some simple instructions, so well just take it easy.
How are you feeling? her mother asked.
Im fine. I have a second shift at work tomorrow, so Ill ask my motherinlaw to look after Oliver this evening. Thatll cover the week. Thanks, Mum.
Eleanor needed to whip up a light chicken broth soup. She headed to the local supermarket and the pharmacy, picking up chicken thighs, carrots, potatoes, and the few herbs the doctor had recommended.
Back home, she nudged Oliver awake.
Oliver, get up and have some soup, she said, shaking his shoulder.
He sat up, looking pale.
I feel a bit nauseous. Could you bring the soup to the bedside? I cant get to the kitchen.
Not a problem, she replied, Ill bring it over, then you can take your temperature again.
He ate the soup, she checked his temperature still 37.2°C. She gave him the prescribed tablets. Oliver turned his face toward the wall and drifted back to sleep. Thank heavens, Eleanor thought.
In Olivers job, sick pay covered the full week, but Eleanors retail position offered barely any. With the mortgage and a few personal loans, she couldnt afford to fall ill herself. She called her motherinlaw, Mrs. Ingram.
Mrs. Ingram, Olivers ill. Could you keep an eye on him this evening? The shop is busy later and I wont be able to call you.
Ill? How is he? Mrs. Ingram demanded, her voice sharp.
Just sleeping. Temperatures a shade up, nothing serious, just the cold.
Thats not just the cold! Youre bringing home all that extra stuff from the till! How many times must I tell you to change your job?
Mrs. Ingram, Im not weak! You once said Oliver could collapse at the drop of a hat as a child. The frost is setting in, and Im already stretched thin.
Eleanor cut the conversation short. Mrs. Ingram was prone to dramatise, and she would be at the door with a sack of helpful herbs any minute. Eleanor had to get ready for work.
Sure enough, her motherinlaw arrived with boxes of assorted teas and tinctures, insisting they might help. She fussed over Olivers damp nightshirt, scolding, Look at him in that soaked shirt hell get worse. How did you miss this?
It was already sleeping when I found him, Eleanor protested.
She left for her shift, but a few hours later felt a wave of fatigue. The same cold that plagued Oliver began to tug at her. She couldnt show weakness, not with the bills looming. That evening she measured her own temperature a degree higher than Olivers. She wanted to complain, but Oliver was preoccupied with his own discomfort.
I feel a chill and my heads spinning. Mother gave me tea with honey and lingonberries it helped a bit, but Im still off. What should I take?
Youre not feeling great either? Oliver asked, eyeing his own pale tongue in the mirror.
Something, anything, she replied.
He handed her a pill. Take it. The tongues still white, so keep an eye on it.
She swallowed it quietly, knowing she couldnt let anyone see her falter. If she told her mother, the phone would ring every five minutes with advice; if she told Mrs. Ingram, shed be blamed; and Oliver would remain oblivious to her struggle.
The decision was made: swallow the pills in silence, keep working, and let the loans sit where they were.
All week Oliver moaned about his weakness, insisting he felt terrible even though his thermometer stubbornly read 37°C. Mrs. Ingrams visits with her strongsmelling brews became a daily nuisance; Eleanor dreaded each knock at the door.
Oliver slept in front of the TV, then the phone, never really noticing the strain around him. By the fourth day, Eleanors temperature finally fell to normal. The mild weakness lingered, but they managed. Oliver stayed in bed longer, demanding meals and temperature checks, while his motherinlaw claimed his childhood frailty had finally caught up with him.
The next week the doctor cleared Oliver. Sam was collected from nursery and taken home. Oliver would return to work the following day.
That evening, sitting at the kitchen table with a mug of tea, Oliver sighed, When we were kids, a cold didnt bother us much. Now I feel like Im dying.
Whats so special about it? Eleanor asked, dryly. Why cant you just push through?
Youd understand if you were in my shoes! he retorted. Its easy to talk when youre healthy.
And I was, Eleanor replied. Ive been through it too, but you never really saw it.
Oliver gave her a skeptical look, then cracked a grin, Just kidding, love. Shall we head to bed?
Eleanor exhaled, a hint of sadness in her smile. Yes, you never did notice, did you?
They turned off the lights together, the quiet of the house wrapping around them.
In the end, Eleanor realised that caring for others never meant neglecting herself. The winter chill taught her that strength isnt about never falling ill; its about acknowledging vulnerability, asking for help, and keeping the household running despite the cold. She promised herself to listen to her own body as much as she listened to Olivers, knowing that a familys health is strongest when every member looks after themselves as well as each other.
