(My husband, Kevin Bunnell, has requested his name be changed to protect his privacy and innocence.) <\/i><\/p>\n
Finally, there is a light at the end of the COVID tunnel. My husband and I were fortunate to receive our second vaccine dose last week. Mine was scheduled for Monday. Kelvin’s would be the next day. <\/span><\/p>\n I prepared myself for the probable side effects; fever and body aches, nothing a seasoned professional like myself couldn’t handle. The way I see it, a slight fever and chills were seen as an excuse to stay in bed with the dogs while binge-watching Grey’s Anatomy. (12 seasons down, five to go. Nobody calls me<\/i><\/b> <\/i>a quitter!) And certainly my dear husband would also enjoy a day spent in bed with a slight fever and some minor body aches? Why wouldn’t he? <\/span><\/p>\n Oh wait; did I mention my husband is a man? Women experience sickness or pain differently than their better halves. (And by better halves, I mean their whinier halves.) <\/p>\n Day 1: After Wife’s Shot<\/p>\n I don’t consider myself a superhero, but the side effects were no big deal for me. I had a sleepless night, sweating and shaking and worrying about the $20 chuck roast whose expiration date was quickly approaching. I wasn’t about to let a fever stop me from making sure my man was well fed. <\/span><\/p>\n At the crack of dawn I dragged myself out of bed, determined not to let that meat go to waste. Like a doomsday prepper, I went and lovingly prepared my man a steaming pot of beef burgundy! And only after all the meat was cubed and the carrots and potatoes sliced did I crawl back into bed, with the dogs and Netflix, content knowing that everyone would be fed and happy (and ignored).<\/p>\n Later that day, Kelvin went for his vaccination. He must have been a very good boy. I know this because he came home with not one, but two red lollipops! “I feel great! No side effects at all,” exclaimed Kelvin. <\/span><\/p>\n Give it time, my dear.<\/p>\n Day 1: After Husband’s Shot<\/p>\n The next morning, Kelvin wasn’t such a good boy. At 10 a.m. I felt it was my duty to check up on my little soldier to make sure he survived the night. When the mirror I placed under his nose fogged up, I was very relieved. When he started to stir and moan I started to feel irritated. <\/span><\/p>\n And, when he asked me, “Why am I cold and then hot?” I fought back the urge to let out my inner Nurse Ratched. Instead, I put on my best Florence Nightingale face and told him, “It’s called a fever, sweetheart. Does baby want an aspirin?” <\/span><\/p>\n “Yeeeeessss\u2026 if you think it will help,” was his feeble reply. I deserve a medal for restraint in the face of unbelievable irritation.<\/p>\n If there were a medal for bravery in the face of body aches, nobody would be pinning a medal on my husband’s chest. In the event of an accidental pinprick, his high-pitched squeals would be unbearable.<\/p>\n At 6 that evening, like slow-rising yeast, Kelvin slowly rose off the couch to announce he would resume his healing in the bedroom. I would usually be concerned, but this was only 30 minutes earlier than he usually left the couch. Later in the evening, I made a wellness check on my geriatric baby patient.<\/p>\n He looked like an angel, a grey-haired, well-worn angel. I leaned over to whisper into his ear, “You’d better feel better tomorrow. That driveway isn’t going to shovel itself.”<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" (My husband, Kevin Bunnell, has requested his name be changed to protect his privacy and innocence.) Finally, there is a light at the end of…<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":5,"featured_media":83366,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"ngg_post_thumbnail":0,"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-83612","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-editorial"],"yoast_head":"\n