First off, my apologies for not posting anything in a while, to explain, I've been sick for the past few weeks. Then nature of my illness is still a private matter and I've been getting better. But as I've been a bit subdued I've been ruminating about things, most predominately what people do for each other when they're sick.
See, Reg was sick the other week and I sat and took care of her while she was confined to her bed. For a few of the days she lost the faculty of speech and we had to communicate through notes and abbreviated sign language. A lot of what I did for her was fetching sandwiches, bowls of cereal, cups of tea. I refilled her hot water bottle, I made sure she was comfortable, I called into her appointments and let them know she was sick. I did all of this and even more so than that I was there for her.
It's a simple thing, being there for someone. It means a lot, however. I remember a few years back when Reg came and visited me in the states I came down with a fever. I'm not one who takes being sick very well, that is to say I don't tolerate it and refuse to wallow under my symptoms generally resulting in me getting up and about and making due with my reduced functions. Reg, however, wouldn't hear of it. She forced me to lay down in bed with as many blankets as she could muster covering me. I sweat it out over the course of a day and a night slipping in and out of restless sleep. She made sure I was hydrated, made sure I didn't throw the sheets off, she was there for me. I couldn't remember the last time someone had done that for me, and could remember a few times when they'd flat out refused.
Now, when I'd lay in bed, quarantined not because I was contagious but because she would worry if I was allowed out on my own, I could see it in her eyes that she wished she could do more. My mystery symptoms, my lack of appetite, my repeated assurances that 'I don't need anything'. Her caring instincts make her wish she could heat up another bowl of soup, that she could fetch me some more pillows or blankets, that there was some need she could fulfill. There isn't really but I appreciate that she keeps asking. I like it that she's there for me. It means more that she'll sit quietly by my side, smiling when she looks over, putting her hand on mine than any creature comfort she can run down and grab from the kitchen.
For some reason it makes me think of a friend of mine, an old flame if you will, a girl I only knew face to face for a week. She spun out across the world leading a life sometimes stranger than fiction. But she'd call on me or more accurately text me every now and then when things went off kilter for her. I couldn't fix what was going on in her life and I suspect that she knew that before she even told me what was up. But all the same she'd call and we'd talk. I wouldn't judge, I didn't ask too many questions, I did what I do best; I listened. I like to believe that I made her feel better just by bearing witness and providing some small comfort by letting her being human. A little frail, sure. A little abnormal; yeah. But simply a person who wanted to talk without judgement to another person at the core of all things.
I guess the same thing happens to everyone when they're not quite tip-top, the thing you want most of all is just someone else to sit by your side and make sure you're okay. As much as Reg wants to make me healthy again she can't, it pains me to no end to be in the opposite position when she's feeling sick. We're not doctors. But when the need arises we can play nurse to one another by fluffing pillows and finding something to take our minds off our suffering. I'm glad Reg is there for me, I'm happy to be there for her. I feel like sitting in bed together, not really saying much, watching YouTube clips on her computer is better than a hospital, is better than home. It's the best place in the world for me to be.
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