The Oneness of Sickness

Middle of the night....groggy.

Janae whispers, "Put your mask back on." She was referring of course to the mask I wear each night when I go to bed that is hooked up via hose to the Magic Sleep Machine. When the machine is on and the mask isn't sealed to my face it makes a noisy continuous whooshing sound that is loud and annoying.

I turned the machine off and sat on the edge of the bed.

Uh. Oh.

It is precisely at this point, in the wee hours of the morn, when ones hand's suddendly go clammy, your stomach won't stop churning and your noggin' has that swimming feeling and everyone who has ever lived on this planet knows.... without a doubt.... that a trip to the bathroom is imminent.

There is also a sense of focus that one has at this critical time that is unusual. Probably something programmed into our DNA and NOTHING, not even a naked woman, will derail a mans oneness and sense of purpose at this time.

Deep breath. Silent prayer.

Sitting on the can, holding onto a wastebasket for dear life and waiting for the inevitable badness that was headed my way is something we all must face by ourselves. At this moment, we are all utterly alone. It's better this way too. Janae popped her head in the bathroom and said the universally apparent rhetorical question, "You okay."

"Ugghh."



Deep, heavy breathing. I say to myself, "Don't lose your focus dude."

When the big moment finally arrives, there is, all at once, a sense of deep relief and, for me, a concern "Is this it? Is the the start of something that will kill me?"

I won't go into any detail here, but suffice it to say that once my business was complete and I had taken the time to shower and freshen up, I contemplated what just took place.

I came to the conclusion - and I think deep down we all know this - that men are generally wimps when it comes to sickness/illness.




I'm no different.

It's a funny and ironic truth that women usually suck it up when they're sick and go about their business because if they don't do it, nobody will.

Even if women are sick it wouldln't matter to them anyway. Husbands are not prone to excessive bouts of sympathetic behavior anyway and just exactly who is going to take care of the kids all day, fix dinner, clean the house, pay the bills, answer the phone and take care of The King?

For reasons noted above, women just can't afford to be sick. Men, on the otherhand, lay in bed and milk being sick for all its worth. We're shameless when it comes to this sort of behavior. SHAMELESS.

Whenever a man get sick, its the equivalent of the earth coming to a stop. We want everyone to know how sick we are. We demand our illness be acknowledged and that we be given the care and respect we deserve - as masters of our own universe. After all, this could be the one illness that ends our life. It's that bad. Always is.

We also demand that every single resident of the home submit to a funeral wake-like demeanor in our presence. Ask ANY wife, this boorish behavior can go on FOR DAYS.

Finally, when the illness runs its course, or a good ballgame is on the TV, we'll emerge from our den but demand that we be treated as if we were still sick. This means we don't get up to get ANYTHING for ourselves and overuse the phrase,

"Honey, will you please bring me a_________________"

It's not a question so much as a statement.

Our best friend during all this is the remote control for the television. We can live without our cell phones, emails and internet access but there's no way we survive without TV during this crisis.

And so the beat goes on. Life beckons. My stomach muscles are sore and I'm a little achey, but thankfully it appears that I just had a 12 hour bug. Probably something I ate.