My sons and husband paid little heed to my infectious situation. I coughed. I groaned. I shivered. I cowered under a blanket on the couch. No one said a word or offered to get me soda crackers or a hot cup of tea. Poor me.
Maybe they were afraid of my germs and wanted to avoid becoming sick themselves. I think it’s more likely they were either oblivious to my situation or simply ignoring it, like you ignore a problem you hope will fade away. Not that they wanted me to fade away – just the germs. I hope.
On day four (or was it five?) I considered wearing pajamas until noon – to see if that would get their attention, but I figured they were so intent on ignoring me, they probably wouldn’t even notice. I had a coughing fit in the family room and thought this large and loud display might make them aware of my plight. They got up and went to watch TV in the kitchen.
For his credit, my husband did heat up a couple frozen pizzas one night and on day six he asked how I was feeling, so there may be some Florence Nightingale in him after all. I’m just glad I’m better – and that none of them caught it. Then the tables would have been turned and I’ll let you in on a little secret: I’m not much of a Florence Nightingale myself.
Jill Pertler is an award-winning syndicated columnist, playwright and author of “The Do-It-Yourselfer’s Guide to Self-Syndication” You can read more and follow her column on the Slices of Life page on Facebook.