It's amazingly endearing (in a way) how much being sick reduces men in to little boys. When Mitch texted me today to say that he was going home from work vomiting, I immediately thought " I knew I should just stay out of the kitchen!" I attempted to make dinner last night for the very first time in our co-habitance history (eggplant parmesan for those foodies out there) and strangely enough, Mitch wakes up the next day with a stomach flu. Coincidence? I thought not until I found out... everyone is sick. We stayed at Mitch's aunt's house this weekend and it seems a stomach bug is rapidly sweeping thru the family ... So far, I feel like a peach and I hope it stays that way as I started my first of four shifts today and don't want to spread it thru my unit. After working 12 hours, I returned home (after stopping to get electrolytes) to a super sick, febrile, couch-ridden Mitch, puke bucket in hand, ready to start my next shift with my live-in patient. I'm not used to having patients that can talk and it was quite entertaining the "sick-isms" that were leaving his mouth:
I have H1N1. I saw it on Jeopardy.
I might be dying!! You don't know that...
Will you rub my feet?
Your eyes look stunning.
I have nightmares when I'm sick (about what?) ... about fevers. ..... Stop laughing at me.
You have a very voluptuous left breast.
I have a heart beat in my chest. I hope it's not cancer.
You look beautiful.
Can you read me Harry Potter?
You look like Jennifer Aniston right now. Go look.
Can you make me a piece of bread? With butter? & Honey? (Butter? Not peanut butter?) I just don't know what peanut butter will do to me. It may coat my intestines...
I'm actually kinda sad he went to bed at 9:30. It was kinda entertaining taking care of "sick Mitch" and I'm not really looking forward to sleeping on the futon tonight.