A nurse I am not

by Katie on July 19, 2013

Brandon discovered early in our marriage I’m not really the best when it comes to bedside manner. I try when needed, I really do, it’s just not one of my spiritual gifts.

And sick husbands aren’t very good patients either. If I ever had to choose between nursing Brandon back to health and just being sick myself? I’d choose the sickness, any day of the week.

Our house was recently plagued with sickness. Leyton got a head cold symptoms on June 28th, and we are just now what I would call a “recovered” household. She gave the head cold to both of us, and she and I had lingering symptoms of that for one week (me) and more than two weeks (her). Brandon somehow got over it all in about three days, but came down with something much worse (we’re thinking flu-ish) last week. He spent an entire 24 hours in bed with body aches, alternating between sweating and chills. Fun stuff.

On Day 2.5 of his illness, he was having a hard time deciding what to eat. He felt a little hungry, but not much was sounding good.

“How about some dry toast?” I offered, thinking it was an excellent option.

“Dry toast!? Why don’t you just go get me a piece of sandpaper and have me swallow that?” my very polite (insert sarcasm) patient replied.

“What’s wrong with dry toast?” I asked. “That’s what my mom always gave us when we were sick.”

“Katie, that was probably when you had a stomach bug. Not when you had a sore throat.”

“Oh, yeah…it seems like that is when we got the toast. How about some soup?”

Oops…

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