Sick as a Dog

He was laying there, the covers pulled tight, his head aching, throat sore, and body racked with chills. Looking out across his living room floor his vision flickered in and out as he yearned for sleep, but his agony kept him awake. His stomach began to rumble again; he begged his body for calm. Comfortable under his blankets he desired to stay snug in his spot, but he knew it was a hopeless pursuit. After a few more minutes he was dashing to his toilet, on his knees shivering, subject to the needs of his body. His mind was just trapped along for the ride. After a minute of intense convulsions he felt amazing relief, laying there on his bathroom floor, the cold tile turning warm from his body heat. He longed for his covers, but his body would not cooperate. Slowly his mind took control again, forcibly moving his limbs as he crawled along the floor back to his spot, returning himself to his cocoon.

He awoke to the sound of approaching footsteps. It was his wife. “You’re sick as a dog.” She said, looming over him, her head blocking out the light. “I’m not a dog, I’m a person.” “I know baby, get some rest.” She replied as she tossed his hair with her hand. She quickly left the room, leaving him alone again, just him and his body.

That’s all he had as his ego was broken long ago. He lay there silently for a long time until finally gaining the strength to move. He got up, wrapped in blankets, and slowly waddled from the living room into the kitchen. From there he peered into the dining room and peculiarly found his wife just sitting there, staring at the table with a blank expression. He moved closer and paused before her, waiting for a response. She did not move and after a few moments he decided to sit across from her. He looked at her, then at the spot on the table where she looked, and back at her again. Reaching out his hand he grabbed her fingers softly and asked, “Are you doin’ ok?” Silence. He waited a bit, still grasping her fingers and asked again, “Is everything alright?” “You’re not the only one feeling bad.” She replied. “What’s wrong?” Again, nothing. He reached up to caress her face and began to say “ I’m here for…” but she pulled away swiftly, yanking her fingers out of his grip. She turned away from him and sat sideways on the dining room chair, looking down on the ground. “Just tell me what’s going on, I can help,” he said softly. “I just told you, I’m not feeling well.” “Is it physical, or mental?”. “Both!” She exclaimed as she stormed off upstairs. As she was disappearing out of sight, into the darkness of the second floor, he faintly heard her say, “I forgot to take my meds last night”.

He sat there, partially unsure of how to proceed, and partially recovering from his physical exertion. After taking a few minutes he mustered up the strength and courage to follow her to their bedroom. As he approached the door he heard muffled cries, and gently opened it to assess the situation. She was lying down with the sheets pulled over her head, and as he creeped over to the bed her cries turned to sobs. He began to lay down next to her, and as he placed his hand on her side she yelled, “Don’t touch me!” Instinctively he jumped back and stood there a moment. Then she said in a slightly lower tone, “Just leave me alone.” He waited another moment or two then, almost whispering, told her, “I’m here if you need me honey, I hate to see you like this. Let me know if there’s anything I can do. If you need me just holler.” He paused before exiting to see if she would answer, but she simply resumed crying under the sheets.

It wasn’t long after he had tucked himself back into his spot on the living room couch that he heard a commotion coming from the upstairs bedroom. He almost rolled his eyes into the back of his head at the situation, and felt contempt for his wife and her antics. But he quickly pushed these thoughts to the back of his mind and mustered up the strength to once again traverse the distance to the bedroom. As he reached the top of the stairs, struggling to catch his breath, he looked down the dark hallway and saw the bedroom door open. His wife was standing there, this time sobbing hysterically. She tried to speak through the sobs but it was no use, he understood nothing. He slowly moved closer to her, extending his arms to embrace her violently shaking body. Right as he was about to touch her she shoved him away shouting, “No!” “What is it Serena? What’s wrong?” He said gently, slowly moving closer. She backed up slowly into the bedroom, twitching her head and neck muscles while her eyes darted around aimlessly. “No, don’t touch me. It’s not fair to you. I’m not fair to you.” “What? What are you saying honey? I love you, you know that. I love you more than anything.” “No, it’s not fair. I’m too much. Just leave, leave me alone.” She said as she backed into the bedroom wall. With nowhere left to go she sank to the floor and half curled into a ball. He moved closer while gently spewing out words of reassurance.

When he touched her he knew something was wrong. He didn’t know what at first, but as he caressed her he realized his hands were covered in a warm viscous liquid. He couldn’t comprehend what had happened, his brain short circuiting with denial and infinite possibilities. He rushed over to turn on the light, but before he got there he knew. He felt his stomach drop, sensing it was already over.