How can he be ill? What state is he in? his motherinlaw gasped. Hes lying there, halfasleep. Its just a low fever, nothing serious, winters just begun.
But this isnt ordinary winter! Its the kind of job you have that drags the shops receipts home! How many times must I tell youchange your work!
Eleanor was drifting in a deep sleep when a sudden clang shattered the silencesomeone had flung open the front door. She blinked at the alarm clock; it read eightoclock in the morning.
Oliver, love, is that you? she asked, her voice trembling, listening to the houses murmurs.
No answer came, only the creak of a door opening toward the bathroom, then a hush.
She slipped on a cotton dressing gown, ran barefoot to the bathroom, and threw open the door.
There, standing by the mirror, was Oliver, his lips stretched in a slow grin, tongue protruding lazily.
Eleanor, is it true that when a person catches a cold their tongue turns white? he asked.
Are you saying youre ill? she drifted, halfasleep.
Probably, Oliver replied, touching his forehead with a worried finger. I need a thermometer. Where is it? Let me lie down. Theyve even given me the day off. I think well have to call a doctor.
Eleanor fetched the thermometer. It read 37.2°C. The winter had truly begun, and Oliver sank onto the bed. The doctor arrived an hour later, handed out a sick note, and left.
Eleanor dialed her mother.
Could you pick up Sam from nursery? He cant come homeOlivers ill.
Her mother, delighted, loved her grandchild and lived alone; Sam was her sunshine.
What about Oliver? Anything serious?
Nothing unusual. The doctor gave a note, prescribed some rest, and well just wait it out.
How are you feeling? her mother asked, concern threading her voice.
Fine! I still have a second shift at workI’ll ask my motherinlaw to drop by tonight and check on Oliver. So thats a whole week of secondshift hours. Thanks, Mum, were sorted.
What to do now? A light chicken broth had to be boiled, so a quick trip to the shopaside from the pharmacywas required. She needed chicken thighs from the freezer, carrots, and potatoes.
At the pharmacy she gathered everything. At lunch she roused her husband.
Oliver, get up, have some broth, Eleanor shook his shoulder.
Groggy, Oliver sat up on the bed.
Ugh, I feel queasy! Could you bring the broth to the bed? I cant get to the kitchen.
Is it that bad? Very well, Ill bring it. Then you can check your temperature again
He ate, she measured againstill 37.2°C. She gave him pills. Oliver turned his face to the wall and fell asleep once more. Thank heavens.
She could not fall ill herselfher husbands sick pay covered his absence, but Eleanors own finances were tight. The familys mortgage and loans left no room for her own sickness. She called her motherinlaw, Mrs. Ingram.
Ingram, Olivers ill. Could you keep an eye on him this evening? We usually have a lot of shoppers later, and I cant reach him.
What do you meanill? What condition? Mrs. Ingram shouted.
Hes lying there, halfasleep. Just a slight fever, its fine, winters started.
Thats not just winter! Its your job that brings home all sorts of things from the checkout! How many times must I tell youchange your work!
Ingram, Im not weak! You yourself said Oliver could collapse at a moments notice as a child. The colds here, so Im of no use
Eleanor cut the conversation short. Ingram loved to spin grand tales, and she might be at the door within the hour. Let her peek, Eleanor thought; after all, she still had to get ready for work.
Sure enough, the motherinlaw arrived with boxes of herbal teas and tinctures, insisting they might help. She fussed over Olivers damp nightshirt, chiding Eleanor.
Look how he lies in that wet shirthell only get worse. How did you not notice?
He was already sleeping, Ingramwhat could I have done?
Eleanor left for her shift. Hours later she felt a wave of fatigue. She, too, was weak, but she could not show it; she had to finish the shift. That evening she checked Olivers temperaturehigher than his. She wanted to complain, but he was lost in his own world.
I feel a chill and my head spins. Mum gave me tea with raspberries and honey; it helped a bit, but by night Im worse again. What should I take?
Youre feeling rough too
Then take something, whatever, Oliver muttered, glancing at his pale tongue in the mirror. Its still white.
She could not afford to fall ill, and she could not air her grievancesher mother would call every five minutes with advice, her motherinlaw would blame her, and Oliver would remain on his own tide.
The decision was made: swallow the pills quietly, keep working, and let the loans linger.
All week Oliver wallowed in his weakness, insisting he felt terrible even though the thermometer stubbornly displayed 37°C. The motherinlaws endless jars of infusions kept arriving, and Eleanor dreaded each encounter.
Oliver remained oblivious, drifting between television and his phone. When she returned home, Eleanor measured his temperature again; by the fourth day it finally steadied.
His weakness lingered, but it passed. Oliver stayed in bed longer, demanding food delivered, temperature taken, a drink brought.
Mrs. Ingram claimed hed been frail as a child, but now, after five years of marriage, this was the first real colda torment for her. He scoffed at his own malaise, complaining constantly.
The following week he was discharged, Sam was taken home, and tomorrow Oliver would return to work.
Sitting at the kitchen table with an evening tea, Oliver mused:
In my boyhood everything passed easier; now this feels unbearable, you have no idea!
Whats so special about it? Why couldnt you just push through?
Try it yourself! Easy to say when youre healthy.
I was! Ive been through it all, but you just didnt see.
Oliver gave his wife a skeptical look, then a sly smile, as if hed uncovered a secret.
Joking, are you? All right, lets go to bed.
Eleanor sighed, resigned: Yes, he never noticed anything
And that was thatjust as a joke about a woman who has given birth can barely fathom the feverish world of a husband hovering at 37°C.
