Illness and Communication

Let me start this post by saying that last night at 12:30am, I was struck by an intense craving for one of Alto Cinco's burritos along with their chips and guacamole. I am proud to say that I did not succumb to this craving, despite the fact that I have joined campusfoods.com, which not only allows you to order food online from almost any restaurant on campus without talking to anyone, it also stores your credit card number so you don't even have to feel the guilt of reaching into your purse or wallet. Brilliant! So yes, disaster averted.

Now on to the, um, meat of the post. (Perhaps the craving was not so much defeated as it was repressed into a latent craving zone, only to periodically resurface at awkward and inappropriate moments). On Sunday night, I wasn't feeling so good. On Monday morning, I was definitely sick. I made all the necessary arrangements, sent the requisite emails, and promptly fell back asleep for 8 hours. When I woke up, I still had chills, my glands were swollen and sore, and I had shooting pains in all my muscles, particularly in my wrists and thighs (?). 

In a previous post I talked about how John is less receptive to my illnesses as I am to his. One of the differences between him and me is that at the first sign of illness, I am on high alert and taking stock of every bodily occurrence; ready to strike down pain or fever with medication, guzzling orange juice and stocking up on Puffs Plus. John, on the other hand, ignores all signs that he is getting ill. He believes that if you tell yourself you're not getting sick, you won't get sick. 

Hence the fundamental differences both in response to initial symptoms and general care of illnesses. 

Yesterday, though, after my second day home from school (devastating loss of time), he came in with some of the homemade chicken noodle soup my sister had made for me the day before. He had warmed it up and told me that I should eat it, it would make me feel better. 

I know the soup helped, but what helped more is that I felt like he was trying to take care of me, which is a big step in the illness department. Since he tries to ignore his own sicknesses (when they infrequently occur), he has traditionally tried to also ignore mine - and the whining that usually accompanies them - in hopes that they would just go away. Having learned over a period of years that this just makes me whine more, this time he tried a new approach and it worked great. 

Conversely, since I know how he thinks about and deals with sickness, I try not to be such a baby when I feel crappy (which is made all the more difficult, since I grew up with a Registered Nurse for a mother who brought out the gingerale and Mrs. Grass soup at the slightest sign of bodily distress). I find that this garners more respect from him, and thus more caretaking impetus.

Ah, the ways we shape and are shaped by those with whom we choose to share our lives.