MAN Flu...It's a Real Thing!

My husband, Skip, rarely gets sick.  He has a strong constitution.  However, the few times he has been 'taken down' by a virus he is sicker than a dog (according to him). MAN flu!  It's that condition that men get when they are sicker--in fact, at death's door with the first sneeze, the first cough, and (Heaven forbid) a fever! Skip knew that he could only push it so far since I am caring for Mom too, but I certainly heard about how sick he was!

Being that we are caring for Mom, we have to be very careful to keep his germs contained. That is no small task.  Skip is the keeper of the TV remote, opens the refrigerator, makes the coffee (because he is a 'Coffee Nazi' and no one can make it as well as he.) He opens cabinet doors, flushes the toilet, picks up the phone, turns on the water at the sink, and handles the mail.  All in all he touches things...lots of things, being unaware or perhaps just forgetful of the fact that those nasty little germs remain on all the surfaces he contacts.  Now, I don't want to appear to be a know-it-all, but when I get sick, I carry anti-bacterial hand cleaners around and whenever I touch anything I wipe it afterwards.  Even when there is no illness in the house, I am a germ-a-phobe!  Skip, on the other hand, only seems to be aware that he has germs when it is convenient for him to be.

"Hey, honey," I say.  "Can you get Mom's dinner started?"
"Nope.  Sorry.  Got germs.  Can't handle food."
A minute later he is pouring water for himself having handled the water pitcher, and fingered the refrigerator door.
"Hey, Honey, can you take the dog out?"
"Nope...don't want to touch the leash.  Germs."
A moment later he is petting the dog's fur.  He forgets that we ALL pet the dog.  She is carrying all of Skip's flu bugs right there on her soft fur coat.
I am the queen of Lysol.  I follow him around spraying and wiping surfaces.  Just when I think I have managed things well my mother reaches over and grabs his coffee cup thinking it is hers.
"NoooOOOOoooo!" I bellow.  I lunge for the cup and wrestle it from her fingers, then grab the wipes and scrub at her hands.

I am caregiving at its most difficult moments.  Mom doesn't understand that she cannot put anything in her mouth (especially now) unless I give it to her.
Skip doesn't understand that he must be extra careful and think about everything he touches.
Our dog Kira doesn't understand that she must not go to her Daddy to get petted and then go to Grandma for more attention.

Skip has been walking around groaning and moaning.  He has been describing each sneeze, each cough, each twinge of muscle aches.  He describes how much mucous has collected in his throat and how his head aches.  Last night he ran a fever and slept for hours and hours in response.  I looked at his listless body and worried that he might have to go to the emergency room.  Yet this morning he was nearly normal again.  It's a miracle!  I wonder if Mom and I will escape without catching his dreaded 'crud'.

Meanwhile,torn between my sick husband and my demented mother, I continue my care for Mom while seeing her gradual decline.  She is unresponsive to simple instructions.  I place a cup of hot tea on the table. I turn to butter her toast and tell her, "Mom, I am buttering your toast.  Please wait and don't drink your tea yet. It'll just be a minute."  Mom nods her head in response and then takes a big slurp of her tea.  I repeat my instruction and she says, "Oh.  Okay."  Then she takes another slurp.  She continues until it is finished at which point I hand her the toast and she asks if she can have some tea.  Why am I surprised by this?  It happens with regularity.

This past weekend we were babysitting our granddaughter and I decided to mix up a batch of modeling dough.  It is a simple form of playdough made with flour, salt and water.  Mom came to the counter thinking that it was time for lunch.  To divert her interest in food I told her what we were doing and showed her how to model a small dog or other creature out of the dough.  Giving her a lump of the 'clay' she took it and begin rubbing it on her arms.  I decided that perhaps she thought it was soap so I demonstrated how to roll it on the counter to form a ball.  I showed her how to fashion ears, nose and mouth, then turned away to help with my granddaughter's efforts.  When I turned back, Mom was eating the dough. Skip was the one who lunged across the counter acting as though she were eating poison and yelling "Spit it out!"  Unphased by his reaction she took another bite.  She seemed to resent his intervention.  Oh, but that is just the tip of the iceberg!  Mom has now entered the belligerent stage of her illness. She has become argumentative and petulant.  The other night, when Skip corrected her at the table telling her to stop slurping her stew (because she often inhales and chokes)  she very defensively told him that she wasn't slurping.  We both laughed and I told her that not only was she slurping but that it was so loud I could hear it from across the room.  She picked up her bowl of stew and yelled, "Well maybe I should just throw this at you instead of eating it!"
Wow!  What happened to my mother?  Where is the sweet woman who would never have dreamed of responding this way?  I actually struggled to keep my anger from surfacing.  I stepped back and saw the humor.  She was frustrated (as were we) and reacted as a child.  A moment later she left the table and sat down to watch TV.  I told Skip that she would return to the table as soon as she forgot  which would probably be in less than a minute.  I was right.  In fact, I asked her if she was ready to have dinner and she replied, "Oh?  Is it time for dinner?" Then she hurried to the table and sat down like she had never seen the bowl of stew before.

The incidents are plentiful. I laugh, I cry, I complain, I yell, and then I feel the compassion.  I am sad...so very, very sad.  But then, I know that these fleeting moments will pass and I cherish even the bad ones.  The memories, the good the bad the ugly are all we will have someday.  So, I keep swiping at the germs, run interference, endure her outbursts, collect the things that present a danger, taking defensive measures to keep Mom safe and healthy while her conscious world slowly disintegrates.

Thank Goodness my partner, my dear husband is feeling better and among the living today.  I can once again count on him to handle things when I am at my wit's end.  This is not easy and it is a lot more difficult when my guy has MAN flu.  It's a real thing.