In Sickness and in Health

It was at her parents' diamond wedding anniversary in Scotland that Anna, my wife, contracted the horrible illness. I was all for a quarantine period on her return, but she said she wasn't prepared to live in the barn for two weeks...selfish. It started in the chest giving her a hacking cough, then went on a tour of Anna's body spending some time up her nose...causing it to run constantly, her limbs...making them ache, then back to her chest en route to her sinuses and jaw where her teeth kept throbbing and her eye sockets pulsated. It wasn't Covid as she did three tests (albeit out of date)...all negative. A 24 hour bug this was not, it lasted the best part of four weeks and she still isn't completely her normal, bubbly self.

I was like the lady of the lamp popping Strepsils out of their foil pockets, filling hot water bottles, mopping her sweaty brow and trying to keep her buoyant with comforting words and singing to her in her darkest hours. I suggested we call a priest at one point which didn't go down well. I would refill her bedside glass of water in the wee small hours, even though it meant a trip downstairs. The only thing that seemed to dull her pain was drinking red wine! A few glasses of the red stuff and her mood lifted.

Often in the morning she would seem better and we thought the worst was over, but she would go progressively downhill throughout the day into evening, hitting the lowest depths at night-time; when I would lie next to her listening to her wheezing, coughing and what I can only describe as a death rattle. I had a small mirror to hold up to her mouth when things got really bad and a couple of euros to pay the ferryman, if needed. Sometimes, it would get so bad I would wake her up and ask if she wouldn't mind going to the spare room.

Now I'm not saying my wife is a hypochondriac (because she was genuinely sick and I did start thinking about what I would do if she didn't pull through; move back to the UK, remarry, maybe get a dog?), but she does love to tell me about her aches and pains every morning, just after recollecting any dreams she's had. There is an element of cry wolf sometimes.

I amazingly did not contract this Scottish lurgy. Every day I was expecting a tickle in the back of the throat, or bead of moisture at the end of my nose. But no, nothing, I dodged that bullet.

We spent a wonderful week in the UK over Christmas, eating and drinking to excess, I didn't consume a vegetable in over ten days. I drank copious amounts of my dad's red wine, but still felt remarkably okay. Social gatherings had been organised where friends and family would shout into each others' faces to be heard above the hubbub. Everyone would say they were just recovering from some illness, 'there's been a lot of it about!'. Still I felt remarkably ok.

The UK shops were a seething pit of humanity just before and after Christmas day. People would be coughing their way around the supermarket, spluttering on all the produce, jostling to get their hands on turkey, mince pies and Brussels sprouts, while we got some funny looks buying half a ton of tea bags, pots of marmite and a haggis. The sales were a frenzy of activity, people shuffling round the shops like a huddle of penguins, grabbing anything on a hanger, with a reduced price tag. Still after all this human contact, I felt fine.

It wasn't until the night before we were due to drive back through France leaving at 6am...I felt a tightening of my vocal chords. Hello hello! Over the course of the evening my vital signs plummeted and I became a shadow of my normal jovial self. A good night's sleep was out of the question with Anna snoring extremely loudly...and having shaken her several times, to no effect, I decamped to my dad's sofa with whom we were staying. I didn't sleep at all, worrying about the eight hour drive ahead of me, the snoring coming through the floorboards and the World Service emanating from my dad's bedroom (he listens to it throughout the night). So although I didn't sleep a wink I was extremely well versed on the headlines, weather report and shipping forecast of the day.

Driving round the M25, M20 and through France was not a pleasurable experience; suffering from sleep deprivation, a constant runny nose and every time I swallowed, it felt like someone was sticking a rusty fork into my soft palette.

My fever lasted several days and Anna's pill cabinet really came into its own. Ibuprofen, paracetamol, aspirin, disprin, I was prepared to take anything to feel better...I even considered her HRT.

Thankfully, now, both on the road to recovery, I have the strength in my arm to raise a glass to you, dear reader, and wish you all the very best of health and happiness for 2025!