Thinking about sniffles in a whole new way: It’s not ‘JUST a cold’

I’m writing this Monday morning at the kitchen table with a Kleenex box close beside me. I’ve carried it everywhere around the house since sometime Saturday. I have a cold.

And this is not just any cold. This is a sneezy, itchy nose, chapped lips, watery eyes, throbbing sinus cold with snot dripping on whatever I’m leaning over—unless I grab the Kleenex first.

Photo by Lisa Fotios at pexels.com

So far no cough, no fever, not even a sore throat. The Covid test was negative, too. But my nose and cheeks and forehead are pressing to be put out of their misery. Hot showers and over-the-counter remedies and tea with honey and lemon and even a saline nose rinse accomplish only so much. With a cold like this, there’s only one thing to do. Wait for it to be over.

Oh, and one more thing, rest. But rest for me these days is only partly possible.

Rest?

I can’t remember when I’ve had a cold like this, but it was years ago, when Evelyn was up and well and keeping things together while I retreated to a recliner with a blanket and hot tea.

But she’s not taking charge of much these days. She gets dressed when I suggest it and wears what I choose from her closet. (Usually, that is. Sometimes only the second or third choice is what she wants.) She takes her medicine when I get it for her. She eats when I prepare it.

Photo by Jonny Gios on Unsplash

She spends a lot of time resting even without a cold, but I feel guilty leaving her alone on the couch, so I try to engage. Music. A puzzle. Something to read. She often goes for one of those—if I suggest it and find it and encourage her to stick with it.

When she’s not quiet, she’s on the move, shuffling from one end of our little house to the other, trying out any one of three beds, picking up something that interests her (a piece of mail, a book from my shelf, a paper napkin, or a pencil) and leaving it where I’d least expect to find it. And so I’m always aware of where she is and what she’s doing.

Healthy?

This isn’t so bad, when I don’t have a cold. She’s generally healthy in many respects and seldom difficult or demanding. (CBD is a gift to combat symptoms of sundowning.) Most often, we get along pretty well.

But this week’s comparatively insignificant compromise of my energy has reminded me how important my health is to our survival.

Since the time of her diagnosis, I have prayed, “Lord, please keep me healthy enough to care for Evelyn as long as she needs my care.”

I know at least two other husbands who have prayed the same prayer. (One of them, Harvey Bream Jr., died at age 95, only about two months after his wife with Alzheimer’s passed away.)

I’m praying that prayer with renewed conviction today, along with a couple of others.

Thanks!

First: Thank you, God, for all the times in past decades when Evelyn had a cold but didn’t stop taking care of the rest of us.

Second: Forgive me, God, for so often taking her for granted. Did I fix supper when she was sick? Maybe. Did I do laundry? Never, I hate to admit. Did I take over so she could retreat and rest? If I did, I don’t remember it.

Photo by stevehullphotography at istockphoto.com

Third: Thanks, God, for faithful caregivers who visit us week after week. I’m holing up in the basement while they’re here this week. Maybe I’ll curl up on the couch and watch a movie and drink a cup of tea. And plan our meals this week and make a list and order groceries for pick-up and respond to a doctor who wants confirmation of an appointment Evelyn has later this week.

I’ll postpone a coffee date with friends and maybe also a consultation with a lawyer who offered one hour free to everyone who attended his retirement planning seminar last month. I’ll stay home and give up the pleasure of driving around with the music I want and the freedom to enjoy my afternoon however I choose.

But I’ll be grateful, Lord, for the promise of enjoying such little pleasures next week. I’ll rest, at least some, and I’ll be content, as much as possible.

One more thing, Lord. Thanks for Costco selling me the stack of Kleenex boxes stashed on a shelf in our basement. What security to know I won’t need to resort to paper napkins or soggy handkerchiefs to blow my nose! It’s the little things, Lord, and you’re taking care of them all.