How can you be sick? Whats his condition? the motherinlaw gasps. Hes sleeping. Its only a slight fever, nothing serious, winter has just begun.
Its not just winter! Thats your job, you keep bringing things home from the shop! How many times do I have to tell youchange work!
Emma is dozing when a loud knock bursts through the flat. She rubs her eyes, looks at the clockonly eight oclock.
Oliver, love, is that you? she asks, listening for any other sounds.
No answer. She only hears the bathroom door creak open, then silence.
Emma throws on a housecoat and darts barefoot to the bathroom. She flings the door open and stops short.
Oliver is standing by the mirror, his lips stretched as he sticks out his tongue.
Emma, is it true that a person with a cold gets a white tongue? he asks.
Are you saying youve got a cold? Emma replies, halfasleep.
Looks like it, Oliver says, touching his forehead worriedly. I need a thermometer. Where did we put it? Let me lie down. Theyve even let me off work. I think well have to call a doctor.
Emma fetches the thermometer. It reads 37.2°C. The winter has arrived, Oliver collapses onto the bed. A doctor arrives an hour later, issues a fitnote.
Emma dials her mother.
Mum, could you pick Sam up from nursery? He cant come homeOlivers got a cold.
Mum is delighted; she dotes on her grandson, lives alone, and Sam is her sunshine.
What about Oliver? Anything serious?
Nothing out of the ordinary. The doctor gave him a fitnote and some prescriptions; well just rest.
How are you feeling? Mum asks.
Fine! Ive got a second shift at work, Ill ask my motherinlaw to drop by this evening, Oliver will keep an eye on things. Thats a whole week of second shifts, right? Thanks, Mum, were sorted.
Whats the plan? She needs a light chicken broth soup, so she must pop to the shop as well as the pharmacy. She pulls a frozen chicken thigh from the freezer, grabs carrots and potatoes.
At the pharmacy she picks up everything prescribed. By lunchtime she nudges Oliver awake.
Oliver, get up and have some soup, Emma shakes his shoulder.
Groggy, Oliver sits up on the bed.
I feel a bit nauseous! Could you bring the soup to me? I cant get to the kitchen.
Is it that bad? All right, Ill bring it. Then you can check your temperature again
He eats, she measures againstill 37.2°C. Emma gives him some tablets. Oliver turns his face to the wall and drifts back to sleep. Thank heavens.
Emma cant afford to fall ill herselfher husbands sick pay covers his days off, but her own shop earnings dont. The familys mortgage and loans leave no room for a sick day. She rings her motherinlaw.
Mrs. Ivy, Olivers ill. Could you look after him this evening? We usually have a lot of customers at night and I wont be able to call you.
How can he be ill? Whats his state? the motherinlaw exclaims.
Hes just sleeping. Its a lowgrade fever, nothing serious, winters here.
Thats not just winter! Thats your job, bringing home all that you earn! How many times must I tell youfind a different line of work!
Mrs. Ivy, Im not weak! You yourself said Oliver could lie down at the drop of a hat when he was a child. The frost is starting, so Ive got nothing to add
Emma cuts her off before the tirade drags on. Ivy loves to make a mountain out of a molehill, and shell be at the door within the hour. Let her have a look; Emma already needs to get ready for her shift.
Sure enough, the motherinlaw storms in with boxes of herbal teas and tinctures for the boy, saying they might help. She fusses over his damp shirt, shouting:
Look at him in that wet shirt, youll only get worse. How did you not see this?
Mrs. Ivy, he was already asleep, what could I have done?
Emma heads to work. A few hours later she feels a wave of fatigue. Shes weak too, but she cant show it; she must finish her shift. In the evening she checks her own temperaturehigher than Olivers. She wants to complain to him, but hes preoccupied with his phone.
I feel chilled and dizzy. Mum gave me tea with elderberries and honey; it helped a bit, but by night Im still unwell. What should I take?
Im feeling lousy too
Then take something, Oliver says, glancing again at his whitetongued reflection in the mirror. Its still white, after all.
She cant let herself get sick; she cant whine to anyone. If she tells her mum, shell get a call every five minutes with advice; if she tells her motherinlaw, shell be blamed; and Oliver will stay in his own world.
The decision is made: she will swallow her tablets quietly and keep working. The mortgage and loans wont disappear.
All week Oliver laments his weakness, claiming he feels terrible even though the thermometer stubbornly reads 37°C. The motherinlaw drops by repeatedly with her brews and infusions. Emma would rather not see her at home; she looks exhausted.
Oliver doesnt notice muchhe watches TV or scrolls on his phone. When Emma returns, she checks his temperature again; by the fourth day its normal.
The weakness lingers, but they manage. Oliver stays in bed longer, demanding food delivered, temperature checks, and a drink. The motherinlaw claims he was often frail as a child, and now, after five years of marriage, this is the first real coldunbearable!
He battles through his mild illness, constantly complaining of feeling poorly.
The following week the doctor releases him. Sam is collected from nursery and taken home. Tomorrow Oliver returns to work.
Sitting at the kitchen table with an evening tea, Oliver confides:
When I was a kid, everything passed easier. Now this you cant imagine!
Whats so special about it? Why cant you just push through?
Youd know if you were in my shoes! Easy to talk when youre healthy.
I was! I went through the same, but you just didnt notice.
Oliver eyes Emma skeptically, then smiles slyly as if hes uncovered a secret.
Joking, are you? All right, lets head to bed.
Emma sighs, resignedhe really didnt see anything at all.
And thats that.
The joke, as they say, is that a woman whos given birth is the only one who can truly understand what it feels like to run a temperature of 37°C.
