funny, isn't it?
by jeanne charters

Recently, I heard that Mother Teresa has been beatified. That is the stage leading to being declared a saint by the Roman Catholic Church. Now, I have no problem with this…certainly Mother Teresa did a lot of good for the poor and sick people in India.

However, I do think that sainthood should be considered for others among us who survive other dreadful, albeit less dramatic woes than Teresa. Namely, me! What are my qualifications, you might ask? Well, dearie, I just lived through 12 days of living in the same house with a husband with the flu. If you have never done this, please don’t demean it on the scale of “saintliness”. Trust me, it has its challenges.

For instance, hearing for the 14th time in 24 hours the color of the mucous material coming from his nose and throat. It starts out yellow; and as the day goes on, it turns to green and chartreuse. Personally, I have never been an admirer of those little boys in grade school who looked into their handkerchiefs each time they blew their nose. I know now that Matt was one of those little boys. Nothing has changed much with maturity.

When the phone rang, he would raise his head expectantly off the pillow and hope it was for him. If so, he could then regale the poor caller with all the same information he had bravely shared with me with throughout the morning. “I can’t breathe. It hurts to cough. When I do cough, I bring up thick gunk colored (the color depended on the time of day, of course). My head hurts. Every part of my body is aching. I think I’m going to die.”

One thing that was unaffected by his illness was his appetite. “Hon, could you bring me some ginger ale, please, and maybe a ham sandwich on the side with lettuce, tomato, and mayo…oh, and a pickle? Oh, and I just coughed up something that was a really dark green.”

As God is my witness, I have never in my life checked the color of my mucous. For all I know, it could be puce! Furthermore, I am a person who does not call herself sick unless I am throwing up and have a fever of at least 102. In that state, I have never once wished for a ham sandwich with lettuce, tomato and mayo, nor a pickle. Therefore, it’s kind of hard for me to be understanding sometimes…much less sympathetic.

My solace was to seek out other women who could understand what I was going through. First, I tried my friend, Nancy. She said, “Oh, I know what you mean; but for heavens sake, be grateful you have him.” Nancy, you may recall, lost her husband, Harry, last year. That made me feel even worse. Not only was I a lousy wife but an insensitive friend, too. Damn!

Since I’ve now established that I’m a total witch with my husband and my best friend, I feel more in need of consolation than ever. So, I called my daughter, Cori, in California. “Oh, mom, I had the same thing…believe me, he really is sick. Be nice to him. Touch his head a lot and say, ‘Poor baby’. That’ll make him feel better.”

Lordy, I even struck out with my own flesh and blood. My neighbor, Gail, sent him chicken soup and gave me the address for the local Urgent Care Center. “Gotta watch out for pneumonia, Jeannie.” Gail was a nurse in a former life. I figure that makes her a naturally nicer person than I am.

Finally, after church on Sunday, I went to buy fish from Joan, my friend at Ingles. When she asked me how I was doing as she always does, I let go. “Oh, Joan, my husband has been sick for 10 days and I’m losing my mind.” I guess the prayers I had just uttered in church kicked in. “Oh, honey, I know what you mean. When my husband gets sick, he’s more trouble than dying triplets. It’s all I can do to keep myself from finishing him off.”

DYING TRIPLETS??? FINISH HIM OFF??? I felt better. Somebody understood. Somebody was even meaner than I.

On Monday morning, I took him to the Urgent Care Center. They gave him antibiotics and codeine cough syrup. The antibiotics seem to be helping, in spite of the fact that everyone thinks his condition is viral. The codeine cough syrup knocks him out…and that’s a good thing because now I won’t have to.

Funny, isn’t it? We marry these guys for better or worse, richer or poorer, in sickness and in health. That’s because we don’t get a test drive on the “sickness” part.

So, dear reader, if you are planning your nuptials any time in the near future, I would suggest adding an item to your list of things to do. Get him injected somehow with a cold virus. Then, put him to bed and just watch. Watch him and watch yourself. If, as you see him turn from that hunk you just can’t keep your hands off of into a sniveling and demanding little boy, you still love him, you may just have a keeper. Don’t worry if sometimes you consider covering his pitiful face with the pillow. That’s normal. In this case, it’s actions and not feelings that qualify for a conviction. May you live a long and healthy life!

NOTE: Two weeks have passed since I wrote this column. Matt is himself again, and I feel like a total schmuck for writing so meanly about him. However, truth is truth and he really was a difficult patient. I pray for the ability to be more empathetic to him during future colds and flus, but you know how it is…it’s tough to teach an old dog new tricks. Woof woof!

Jeanne Charters is a former V.P. of Marketing for Viacom Television. She started her own award-winning broadcast advertising agency in 1990. Jeanne lives in Fairview with her husband, Matt Restivo. [ charmkt@juno.com;828-628-0023 ]