AW! POOR BABY

AW! POOR BABY!

Walk a day in my shoes – please!

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My grandmother, a wise old woman, could be heard often saying: ‘Men! They’re all cut from the same cloth!”

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My husband and I are in our (much) senior years. He’s over eighty and I’m fast approaching that mile marker.

As we’ve gotten older, our bodies are quick to remind us that whatever is out there, it will find us! It might be an on-going age-related ailment or perhaps a bacterial infection. While we try to stay healthy by exercising and eating nutritious foods, now and then, one of us will fall prey to an ailment.

If it happens to me, I fight with everything in me to fight it off. My husband? He gives in to whatever little microorganism invades his body and thinks I can magically eradicate it. How I wish I could!

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Years ago, I was diagnosed with arthritis. I hurt! Don’t misunderstand me. I’m not complaining because in my entire life, I was not one to complain. But not a day goes by that some joint somewhere in my body doesn’t hurt. I’m not talking about a mild ache. My neck feels like a bowl of rice Krispies after you pour milk on them. I have nerve damage in my toes due to a tumor removal several years ago. And my list goes on.

My husband has recently developed arthritis in his foot.

Oh, the poor baby! He can barely walk. The pain is so bad.

Come on! Walk a day in my shoes, please! Have the joints in your toes hurt and walk as the pain travels up to your knees, hips, back, through your spine and into your next. Give me a break! Again, not complaining just stating the difference between his mindset and mine.

Oh, but my poor husband. He really needs to sit in the recliner with his feet up. (I should be so fortunately to have that kind of time.)

“Hon, can you make me a cup of tea?” “Hon, can you hand me the TV remote?” “Hon, can you get me some Tylenol?”

And his requests go on.

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He developed a cold with a severe cough. Yes, it’s really tough especially when you have COPD, which he has. Yes, I feel bad for him. His coughing, or maybe I should clarify that word with “hacking” is enough to annoy a saint. While I feel bad for him, I can’t even imagine how is makes him feel. HOWEVER ..

“Hon, I’m so tired of coughing. I’m worn out.”

Hey, I didn’t sleep all night either listening to him hack his lungs out! Oh, but wait.

“Hon, can you get me some juice?” Last I looked, his legs worked.

“Hon, what are we going to have for dinner?” I ask, “What would you like?” “Uh, I don’t know.” Well, hell, if I knew how to cook ‘I don’t know,’ I’d make it!

“Hon, why are you so cranky?” I wanted to throw a pillow at him. He just woke up from a two-hour nap while in those two hours, I went to the pharmacy and picked up his new prescriptions, stopped at the supermarket and bought chicken for dinner that we’d already agreed upon before he fell asleep, and quietly did two loads of laundry.

Why am I cranky? Oh, gee, I’m not sure. Let me count the reasons.

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Because of his COPD and now the bacterial cold that invaded him, his breathing is a little labored. One of the medications the doctor ordered should ease that and help him relax. HOWEVER ..

“Hon, I’m not breathing right. What should I do?”

“Use your nebulizer. That’s what you have it for!”

“Can you get the serum for it?

“It’s next to your machine that is on the table right next to you.”

“Oh yeah.”

Oh, did I mention that I’m under a doctor’s care for my breathing issues and heart palpitations? No. Oh well, he never remembers them. And then, neither do I.

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“Hon, I’m cold!”

“There’s a throw blanket on the couch. Use it.” (and I secretly think, before I wrap it around your head)

“Hon ..”

At this point, I tell him, “I’m taking some Tylenol for my back and then I’m going to take a shower. You’re on your own until my shower is done!” I’ve never been known to take very long showers but this time, I made an exception.

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Finally, after a relaxing shower, I sit on the couch. Hopefully, he’ll put on a good show on TV.

Nope! He puts on a weird series on Netflix to binge-watch. Oh well, I can pick up my book and enjoy reading JD Robb’s Fantasy in Death.

“Uh, Hon,” Omg, here we go again!

I close my book, look at him, and sweetly say, “Yes, sweetie, what do you need?”