I’m not a nurse.
I don’t want to be a nurse.
I am interested in medical things.
I watch House and, back in the day, I watched ER and Chicago Hope.
I picture myself more in the role of Dr. House or Dr. Jeffrey Geiger on Chicago Hope.
I loved Dr. Geiger; he was a superior doctor and a tormented human being. I identified with Dr. Geiger quite a bit at one time.
When I was in elementary school we disected a frog. I assigned names to everyone on my team: Dr. Welby, Dr. Kildare, Dr. Quincy. We all had some kind of doctor name. I think I was Dr. Welby.
But back to the nurse.
My husband called me at work yesterday afternoon.
“I think I am getting a cold.” he said.
“No you’re not,” was my less-than-sympathetic response. “Just ignore it; it will go away.”
That strategy has worked for me more than once over the years. I am a firm believer in pushing through, in not giving in, in digging deep.
Not so my husband. I don’t mean to sound cold or uncaring, truly I don’t. I just find it difficult to be patient with the sniffles. The common cold, for heaven’s sake.
I’ve been burned by this attitude before, though. Earlier this year I refused to belive my husband was sick. He had the pneumonia shot in the fall, he couldn’t possibly have pneumonia. Who knew that the pneumonia shot was only good for certain strains of pneumonia and that he truly did have pneumonia. I had a good feast of crow the day our doctor told him he did, indeed, have pneumonia.
But back to the present, and the cold that apparently has dared to cross our doorstep. I arrived home from work this afternoon and my husband was in bed. Asleep. With a cold.
Lawd. Be thankful I am a Business Analyst and a writer and not a nurse. It wouldn’t be pretty.