I have been sicker.
I have been sicker at work, flailing through a flu bug at a North Van foster home, sweating my way down through layers of sheets and praying the kids wouldn’t burn the house down around me.

Nuv was sick three days this week.
This is remarkable.

I have known Nuv for many years and he’s been sick maybe twice.
For a guy who subsists on three hours sleep a night, whose blood under a microscope would be a petri dish clot of ash, hate, and a million tiny middle fingers, he really should be sick more. But some powerful strain of Indian fortitude with a splash of asshole subordination towards common folk and their common ails keeps him on his feet and constantly having to muster genuine sympathy for his wife and her ever present “My stomach/head/back/eyes don’t feel well.”

So he gets sick and for some foolish reason I think that I won’t. I even take some Vacation days of my morning job this week. That pretty much guaranteed I would then get sick and not be able to enjoy the extra hours of not-school not-work time this week. HAHAHAHAaaaa....(stomping footsteps, door slam and muffled sobs) So as he’s finishing the awesome roller coaster of ferocious sneezing, plastic bags full of crumpled tissue and helium headful of mucus, I graciously step in, place my mouth over his and suck deep in all the remaining virus and my body rolls out the red carpet for some get down serious sick.

It hit yesterday morning, a Saturday. That uneasiness of movement, sour acid scratch in the back of the throat, wanting to suddenly take a bath as my shower was finishing. It ended with me dragging myself around the apartment, crying every few minutes at nothing, gazing wistfully out the window at people from my germ jail. Healthy happy people. Walking. Laughing. Breathing. When I get sick, and this has always been the case since I can remember, I enter this hazy sub-world where I have nothing, I am nothing, where doing something like loading the dishwasher feels like it deserves my name being etched on some Award, where I don’t remember health, and going out, and eating isn’t fun, and there’s nothing on TV so I’ll just sit here. I’m a 13 year old drama student in a play about an Eastern European orphan left to her own devices after being infected by the plague and bad acne. Weary, woeful and hilariously pathetic.

Last night I went to bed first, aching and mumbling. Nuv came to bed later, at first all quiet and careful to not wake me, keeping the bedroom light on dim and sliding into bed without disturbing me. I took this as my cue to become a sweaty flailing demon with 8 legs and arms and his pillow is my pillow and he ended up being woken up four times. The last time was around 6 AM or so and he wasn’t very happy. The light was switched on, the door slammed open as he went to go smoke and look for divorce papers and a noose. For me.

I woke up around noon, went out to the living room to check on my downloading movies (Whattup 1995! I can download movies all by myself now! Kind of), made some tea and went back into the bedroom. Even with the window cracked it smelled like we’d slaughtered a couple of rotten animals in there. All the sick had crawled out of me and wallpapered the room with gore. I woke Nuv up, slid some tea in his hand and drank some juice standing up in the kitchen.
I don’t feel great, but I think the worst is over.