Dating Kit

Adventures of a Single Girl…

“Help me if you can I’m feeling down And I do appreciate you being ’round…”

on July 13, 2015

Keen observers will have noticed that I haven’t posted as much this week as I usually do. Alas, I’ve been sick. And, as per my comments in “… it’s just emotion taking me over” where I talked about emotional needs not always being met when you’re single, you don’t always have someone to look after you when you’re sick either.

For me, it’s been that way even when I was married.

My ex husband was a Leo, very vain, and always paranoid that he’d get sick when I was sick. I worked nights and he worked days, but if I was sick, he really didn’t want me there in case I infected him, and if I was coughing, I’d keep him awake and that would upset him and disturb his sleep. So I either went to work despite the gravity of my illness or was stuck on the couch- more often than not, I just went to work. The couch was comfy enough but apparently not far enough away from the bedroom in which he slept. I got used to not having someone play the nurturing role.

One time, we were on holidays and during the day, while we were out and about, he wasn’t feeling very well. We changed our plans so that we were doing less active things, to accommodate him. We decided to have a quick pub dinner (he wanted to eat) and go back to the hotel room instead of staying out for the evening as we’d planned. But by the time we got back to the hotel, it was me who was much sicker of the two of us.

My head was pounding so hard that I was begging for a hammer to just give me one final blow and finish me off. I was so hot and feverish that I was on the bed writhing around in just my undies, trying to make myself as comfy as possible. I wanted to sleep it off but the pain just wouldn’t let me. I kept trying to crack my stiff neck in the hope that my head pain would be relieved. But it didn’t happen. Everything hurt, and nothing felt normal. As the driver in the household, when we used to arrive at destinations, I always took notice of where the hospital and other essentials are, so I knew where in which direction it was and was trying to get him to call a taxi and take me, but he refused. I kept begging for a hammer, for the hospital and reeling off my symptoms because I was convinced that I had meningococcal meningitis or something but he kept saying no, you’re not so bad. I don’t generally know all the symptoms of such illnesses but remember a few years ago Man cuddles 13.07.15there was that outbreak in Australia? That’s how I knew them, but as he was saying I was fine, I figured maybe I didn’t know them as I thought I did.

It felt like hours that I endured that pain, but I’m not sure how long it was. I knew I had nothing with me that I could take. I asked him to ring the concierge to find out where the nearest convenience store was (that city doesn’t have ANY 7-11s) and he wouldn’t do even that. I had to ring downstairs and find out where it was. Lucky for me he said he’d go with me to the shop. So I got dressed and we walked around two corners to the other end of the block and I got some Panadol.

Back to the hotel, I took the tablets and within half an hour I was in the bathroom in my undies, sweating and nauseous as all get out, sitting on the cool floor with my back against the cold wall, trying to cool myself down with a sopping wet hand towel. While I was in there, for AGES, I could hear the tv on the whole time. After about half an hour I started vomiting, chucking up my guts!! About ten minutes later the door opened and my husband walked in to check on me. He’d been too busy watching bloody Jonathan Ross to care about how I felt!! I asked him why he hadn’t come in sooner and he said he doesn’t like someone being there when he’s vomiting. I responded that I’d only just started vomiting but had been in there for ages, on my own, miserable and he just hadn’t bothered. He didn’t really have an answer for me. I’d never been so disappointed and let down by him.

After I felt better, I sorted myself out and went back into our room. Again I started reeling off the symptoms I was feeling and said, “apart from the rash, I swear it’s meningococcal meningitis.” And then, and theeeeeenn, you know what he said? “Oh no, you had a rash all down your back.” Are you fucking kidding me??? I wanted to belt the shit out of him and push him out the window of our high rise hotel. So there was the man I loved confirming that for hours and hours the symptoms I’d been suffering from were those typical of this debilitating illness and he’d stopped me from going to the hospital and had left me to my own devices while I writhed around on the floor trying to cool myself down. Who does that????Cuddles 13.07.15

Besides which, I rarely vomit! I’d vomited maybe three times during our marriage, (at least one other time he left me to my own devices and I’d woken up on the cold bathroom floor the next morning- but that was due to too much of the wrong alcohol!), and so rarely that it scares me and I cry. So he should’ve known better than to leave me there on my own.

After my ex husband and I split up, a mere 2.5 months after the above incident (are you surprised, really???) I quit my night job and embarked on the long journey of resetting my body clock to that of a person who sleeps at night and is up and active during the day.

It took about 6 months and in that time I was sick over and over again. Colds, sinus, fluish things. It was hell. And I was alone pretty much the whole time. I didn’t want people seeing me like that and most of my family lives an hour away, too far to just drop in with a pot of soup. So I suffered alone and each time I got better, I got on with life, did my washing, cooked good meals (that I wasn’t as up to cooking when I was sick) socialised with my friends, tried to get back into the world, but then of course, I got sick again.

I’ve always found that the night hours home alone are the loneliest. And, when you’re trying to switch from night to day, and struggling with that, getting sick all the time, one long, sick night can feel like a week. Noone is around, friends are sleeping soundly in their homes, as are family. You do what you have to do, and you get through it, until the next time.

So believe me when I say that I’m used to being alone and sick, but it doesn’t mean I like it. I have fave sick foods, drinks, depending on the illness. I’m as careful as I can be to avoid getting sick but it’s not always possible. I know some people think that I’m overly cautious, particularly in winter months, but I have to be and they’re not there to look after me when I’m sick (nor would I expect them to be, but they can also keep their judgments to themselves). They hear about it on fb and send their best wishes, but, to protect themselves, they don’t visit. And that’s not so bad. I generally don’t want people seeing me at my worst. A couple of times friends have offered to bring me dinner and such, but generally I say no. I shouldn’t, and that’s my issue. I’ve been getting better at accepting people’s help lately, so maybe next time.

I’m extremely lucky that it’s not a real disease or something debilitating. My illnesses are, thankfully, short lived, though unfortunately repeated, but I realise that there are people out there who are much worse off than I am, who are doing it hard constantly.

To keep in touch with the world, and to have someone to date when I’m better, when I’m well enough, I keep up with my online dating. Guys often offer to come and look after me. As if. I don’t assume they’re all sleazes. Some are definitely genuine and care. They keep up the texts, sometimes too much. Recently I had two guys who kept texting multiple times a day. It was almost too much, especially as one of them kept telling me what to do, “dry toast, keep your sugar levels up, have you eaten, it upsets me that you’re constantly getting ill, why did you exercise, you knew you weren’t 100%!” It was sweet of him to care but I did have to tell him to mind his own business. Oh and when he texted and asked me how recent my pic on What’s App was (we were texting, not on WA), he’d gone waaaaaaay too far. Stalker much?

Anyway, these texts (annoying as some of them were) and those of my friends and family, are what help keep me going when I’m sick. This time, my dad texted and said he was going to drop in. I asked him to bring me ice cream as I was out and my throat was killing me (well, it was severe tonsillitis) but what I really wanted was a cuddle. I’d turned down all sorts of offers from guys online, but just needed one from a familiar person. And I got it, thankfully, and I had about four little tearies in the arvo leading up to his arrival. But I want more, and from a guy who wants to be there to give it.

Despite not having a husband who looked after me when I was sick, I really do want someone who would. I’ve survived without it, but we women survive without a lot of things that we’d really rather have. I mean, we survived without balayage and shellac, didn’t we? But as soon as we knew we could get them, we wanted them, and now we’d rather not live without them.

Having someone to look after me when I’m sick means more than that. I should have someone who I don’t mind seeing me at my worst, and who doesn’t think twice about being here for me in those times; who puts their own health at risk by looking after mine. I’ve done it for my ex husband and other guys, so where is the guy who’ll do it for me? It shouldn’t be so hard to find, surely?

The good thing about being sick is that between the painful swallows, the during the night medication taking, and wondering if I’ll ever get better, I’ve had time to think. I’ve remembered all those guys who didn’t hang around long enough, and those who were there for me in other ways if not as my nurse maid (McHotties and McSteamies are welcome to apply for future illnesses), so there’ll be plenty of stories upcoming. Stay tuned, dear, patient Kit fans and I might just be able to restore our faith in men yet, or keep us all entertained at least.

Oh, and I’ve never watched an ep of Jonathan “Woss” since that night.

(Help, by the Beatles, but we’re in Australia, so it’s the Farnsey version to which I relate.)


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