Sick

“It hurts.” I moaned as I lay in my bed, my head aching and my stomach hurting. Coughs racked my body as I attempted to breathe through the pain.

“I know, Baby, I know.” The soothing ministrations of my husband by my side made the pain slightly more bearable.

 I groaned as I felt my stomach spasm in pain. Once more, I leaned away from the bed and heaved into the small bucket that he held up to my face.

 His hands stroked my hair away and wiped away the sweat beading there.

 Tears welled up in my eyes, my reaction to the spasms in my stomach.

 His hands were there, thumbing away my tears as he wiped my mouth with a napkin, “There you go.” His gentle words soothed the irrational emotional pain that I felt.

 I dropped back onto the sheets, my eyes squeezing shut as I tried to block the pain.

 A moment later, a cool cloth was pressed to my forehead. 

“Go eat.” I forced the words out through the pain.

“I’m not hungry.”

 My eyes met his through thin slits, “You need to eat.” I couldn’t remember the last time he had left to grab something for himself and not for me.

 His forehead was creased in worry as he stared back at me. I could only imagine the terrible fright I must look.

 I couldn’t make myself care.

 I felt his hand thread his fingers in between mine and gently squeeze, “You’re going to be okay.” He seemed to be assuring himself more than me.

 I tried for a smile, but knew it looked miserable when worry tightened his features even more.

“At least get some sleep-” My voice was interrupted by my coughs.

“In a little bit.” His answer was the same as two hours ago. It had been almost 24 hours since I had come down with this sickness and he had not left my bedside since.

“Now. Please.” I focused on my breathing before I said, “Just for a little bit.”

 He seemed at war with himself, but I could clearly see the tiredness behind his eyes.

 He stood, crossed to the opposite side of our master bedroom, and then climbed into the king-size bed next to me.

 I weakly moved away from him as he got closer, not wanting to infect him. Although I doubted my efforts would make much of a difference given that he had stayed by my side the entire time.

 I felt his arm latch onto my waist and pull me closer.

 I weakly resisted him, “No.” My coughing started again, and I twisted away from him trying to breathe without coughing on him.

 Once it had stopped and I tentatively took some short breaths, he laid his head near me, “Your breathing calms my nerves.” He whispered.

 I felt myself crack a smile, “And you’re snoring helps mine.”

 I felt him more than heard him scoff at my comment.

“Sleep. It’s not like I’m going anywhere.” I felt another coughing fit push for release.

“Don’t resist it.”

 I turned my head and let my lungs have it. Lifting my head up, I regained my breath.

 When I plopped my head back down on the pillow, I turned to look at him. His lashes rested against his cheeks; his breathing had slowed significantly.

 He must have been exhausted.

 I let my hand rest against his cheek. His lashes fluttered but then remained immovable.

 My precious husband. What would I do without him?

 I laid my cheek against his shoulder; his arms tightened the slightest bit around me making me smile.

“Love you.” I whispered as he slept.