How can he be off his trolley? What condition is he in? exclaims the motherinlaw, her eyes wide. Hes still in bed. Its just a slight fever, nothing serious; winters just begun.
Its not just winter! Its your job that brings home all that rubbish from the shop! How many times do I have to tell youchange your line of work!
Eleanor is halfasleep when a loud bang jolts her awakesomeone has flung open the front door. She rubs her eyes, glances at the clock, and sees its only eight oclock in the morning.
Oliver, love, is that you? she asks, listening for any other sounds in the flat.
There is no answer. She hears only the soft click of the bathroom door closing, then silence.
She throws a housecoat over herself and rushes barefoot to the bathroom.
When she pushes the door open, she stops dead.
Oliver stands in front of the mirror, his lips pulled back, tongue lolling out.
Eleanor, is it true that when a person goes off their trolley they get a white tongue? he asks.
Are you the one off your trolley? she replies, halfasleep.
Looks that way, Oliver says, pressing a hand to his forehead. I need a thermometer. Where did we keep it? Let me lie down. The boss let me off early. Well probably have to call the doctor.
Eleanor fetches the thermometer. The reading is 37.2°C. The winter has started, Oliver collapses onto the bed. A GP arrives an hour later, signs a sick note, and sends him home.
Eleanor rings her mother:
Mum, could you pick up little Sam from nursery? He cant come homeOlivers off his trolley.
Her mother, Margaret, is delighted; she lives alone and adores her grandson, who is her pride and joy.
Is Oliver all right? Anything serious?
No, nothing major. The doctors here, gave the note, prescribed a few things, well just rest.
How are you feeling? Margaret asks, concerned.
Im fine! I still have a second shift at work, Ill ask my motherinlaw to swing by this evening, Oliverll be watching. Itll be a whole week of the second shift. Thanks, Mum, were sorted.
What to do now? She needs a light chicken broth soup, so she must dash to the store as well as the chemist. She grabs some chicken thighs from the freezer, buys carrots and potatoes, and picks up the rest of the meds at the pharmacy.
At lunch she wakes her husband.
Oliver, get up and have some soup, Eleanor nudges him on the shoulder.
A groggy Oliver sits up on the bed.
I feel a bit queasy! Could you bring the soup to the bed? I cant make it to the kitchen.
Is it that bad? All right, Ill bring it. Then you can check your temperature again
He eats the soup, checks the thermometerstill 37.2°C. Eleanor gives him some tablets. Oliver turns his face to the wall and drifts back to sleep. Thank goodness.
If Eleanor were to fall ill, shed get full sick pay, but she cant afford a break; the familys mortgage and other loans leave no room for a sick day. She phones her motherinlaw, Mrs. Inga Richardson:
Inga, Olivers off his trolley. If anything, keep an eye on him this evening. We usually have a lot of customers later, and I cant get through to him.
How can he be off his trolley? Whats his condition? Inga repeats, startled.
Hes still in bed. Its just a slight fever, nothing serious; winters begun.
Its not just winter! Its your job that brings home all that junk from the till! How many times must I tell youchange your line of work!
Inga, Im not weak! You yourself said Oliver could collapse at a moments notice when we were kids. The cold snap has started, so I have nothing to do here
Eleanor cuts the conversation short. Inga loves to blow things out of proportion, and she might be here within the hour. No mattershe can keep an eye on things; Eleanor needs to get ready for work.
Sure enough, Inga arrives with box after box of herbal teas and tinctures for the grandson, declaring they might help. She fusses over Olivers damp shirt, shouting:
See how he lies there in a wet shirt? Hell only get worse. How did you miss this?
Inga, he was already asleep, what could I have done?
Eleanor heads to work. A few hours later she feels a wave of weakness. Shes also off her trolley, but she cant show it; she must finish her shift. That evening she measures her own temperaturehigher than Olivers. She wants to complain, but Oliver is preoccupied with his own discomfort.
Im shivering and dizzy. Mum gave me tea with bilberries and honey; it helped a bit, but its still not right. What should I take?
Youre not the only one feeling poorly
Then take something, Oliver says, glancing again at his white tongue in the mirror. Its still white, after all.
She knows she cant afford to fall ill. Complaining to her mother would mean endless calls with unsolicited advice; telling Inga would only bring accusations; and Oliver would stay in his own world.
The decision is made: she will swallow her pills quietly and keep going to work. The loans wont disappear.
All week Oliver wallows in his weakness, complaining that even a perfectly normal 37°C makes him feel miserable.
The motherinlaw keeps dropping by with her brews and tinctures. Eleanor would rather avoid her entirely; she looks tired and weary.
Oliver notices nothinghe watches TV or scrolls on his phone. When Eleanor returns home, she checks his temperature; by the fourth day it finally normalises.
The weakness lingers, but they manage. Oliver stays in bed longer, demanding meals delivered, temperature checks, and more.
Inga insists that he was frail as a child, and now, after five years of marriage, this is his first serious coldunbearable!
He pushes through the mild illness, constantly moaning about feeling poorly.
The following week the doctor signs him out. Sam is collected and taken home. Tomorrow Oliver returns to the factory.
Sitting at the kitchen table with an evening tea, Oliver says:
When we were kids, anything was easier to get through. Now Im feeling like this, you cant imagine!
Whats so special about it? Why cant you just cope?
Youd know if you were in my shoes! Easy to talk when youre healthy.
Ive been there too! Ive had it all, but you just didnt notice.
Oliver looks at Eleanor skeptically, then smirks, as if catching her off guard:
Joking, are you? All right, lets go to bed.
Eleanor sighs sadlyhe really didnt notice anything
And thats that.
In the same way, a woman who has given birth can only vaguely understand what her husband feels when his temperature sits at 37°C.
