Mr. J is really sick. I thought it was just a cold but he sounds awful. I've been sick, having been a three-pack-a-day smoker prone to respiratory infections, but this is bad. He isn't eating much, and I think he's lost weight. He spends most of the night coughing, deep rumbly coughs that sound like thunder in the next room; he's been sleeping on the couch so as not to bother me during the night. I don't know what's worse: having him toss and turn and cough and hack right next to me, or hearing all those things from the other room while I subconsciously try to process the fact that my bed is empty apart from me.
Today he has something unpleasant coming from his eyes. I don't know what to make of that, except that it's likely not good. It sounds like an infection of sorts, which is also not good. Infections scare me; I can't help but think of limbs falling off and frontal lobe damage. I'm not sure where I got the idea about frontal lobe damage, honestly, but I can't help but worry. I'm not very good at the business of care-taking. I can cook the meals and feed him soup and make sure he has tissues and water and medicine. I'll even go to the store in the night. But I am notoriously lacking in the compassionate sympathy department. I wish I could be better at this wife business, but a sick husband just doesn't inspire anything warm and helpery inside me. I want him to get better, even if I'm not very good at helping him do so.
I think I'll take him to an urgent care clinic if he doesn't get better tomorrow though. I don't like it when he leaks goopy stuff out of his eyes.