Last year, Jeff had pneumonia. He was feverish and sore and tired and all around completely miserable. As the doctor gave him instructions for the next few weeks, he pathetically moaned, why me?
I have to sleep alone?
I have to stay home?
I have to be quiet?
What did I do to deserve this, he cried.
Yesterday, I too, was diagnosed with pneumonia after a couple days of feeling crappy culminated in shortness of breath that scared me enough to get my ass to Urgent Care. After my x-rays and blood work, the doctor sternly gave me my orders:
Stay in bed as much as you possibly can.
Don’t allow your husband or children in the bed with you.
Don’t share food or drinks with anybody.
Take lots of long steam showers.
Talk as little as possible.
Take lots of naps.
Beware that the Tylenol with Codeine will make you “loopy.”
Just do as little as you possibly can for as long as possible.
Do you have any questions, he asked as he was finishing up my chart.
Yes, I responded, with glee.
Why me? What did I do to deserve this?!
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