The Other Kind of Nursing

With my nearest and dearest, I don't always have the best bedside manner.

Oh, I was great with my sister during her brain tumor hospitalization. I was thoughtful and entertaining. I told her funny stories of the day she went to the hospital, making her laugh. She never remembered the stories when I began them again a few hours later, so I really had my routine down pat and customized to feature her favorite bits. I solicited the nurses for what she thought she needed (even when it turned out that she was regularly being given baths and clothing changes, she just couldn't remember them).

But when Paul has a cold, I stay as far away from him as possible. I can smell the mucus and sick on him, and I don't like it. I have always quietly rationalized this to myself as a sort of primitive concern about an illness in my big man.

But I'm not great with Ellie's colds either. I think she'll eventually smell like her daddy when she's sick. But I find myself acutely physically uncomfortable when I'm holding her and she's struggling to breathe through her stuffy little nose.

Then I realize that I'm holding my breath in sympathy with her labored breathing.

Or I'm clenching my teeth so tightly that my jaw aches.

Or her restless physical discomfort is causing her to repeatedly kick at me with her sharp little heels and pinch at me with her little fingers.

But the worst is when I hear her repetitive coughs or quiet fussings from her bed and know that there's nothing, nothing, nothing I can do that will make either of us feel any better.

Thank heavens Paul is coming back from his 5 day/6 night business trip tonight. He's better with the colds than I am. He'd just better be healthy.