It’s Sunday morning. I haven’t accomplished one single thing this whole weekend. Coughs and colds have relegated me to nursemaid for the past few days. A sick husband is an incredible thing to behold. Questions every few minutes about his symptoms and whether they are getting worse or better and how long this will last and why does he have to get sick? Do you think it’s pneumonia? Do I have whooping cough? What are my chances of survival? Do you know where my life insurance policy is? The common cold can play havoc with the hypochrondriac’s mind. Assurances that he will live to see another day from me are to no avail. No - you don’t have a fever, but you are warm, please cover your mouth when you cough, wash your hands, here is more tea for you, drink a glass of water so you don’t get dehydrated, on and on and on. I hope he feels better today. My throat’s feeling a little scratchy today. NO. NO. NO. I am the caretaker, I can’t get sick. I already sleep 4 to 5 hours a day. I'm starting to cough. Maybe I'm getting sick. Maybe I'm getting pneumonia. Maybe I'm a hypochondriac, too. I can’t even hear what he is saying to me anymore. Or, he talks and I fall asleep. I should be more empathetic to the man I love and have been with for over 35 years, don’t you think? I’m a horrible person. (Of course, this is all written ‘tongue in cheek’ as they say, so don’t take it too seriously!)