Last week, Rick was just about dying from a cold he had contracted. Well, he thought he was dying, anyway. I barely knew he had a cold. Which is wonderful news right from the start. You see, back in the old days, when Rick would catch a cold it mean't that our lives would be turned upside down. And sideways. And it almost always mean't a trip to the hospital and a long bout with pneumonia.
Then we discovered the pneumonia shot. And air purifiers. And staying indoors during cold season. Well, we're still not so good at staying indoors.
Rick hasn't had pneumonia in about nine years and his colds have been fewer and the voracity of his colds have been a breeze. In fact, he just doesn't get sick anymore. Praise God!
Fast forward to last week when Rick was all but dying from the sniffle he seemed to have encountered. He made me go to the doctor with him, where the doctor agreed with him and yes, he did have a cold. Even though I never once saw a symptom.
Wanting to avoid giving him an antibiotic that might interfere with his other meds (he does take 22 pills a day) the doctor decided that a simple nose wash was in order. She swore that although it was difficult to mix up, once he tried it, he'd be telling other people about it... and he'd be using it everytime he felt he'd been "compromised."
He never did.
This morning, Rick, being in a somewhat frisky mood, tried to plant a big kiss on me. Wanting to avoid catching this supposed cold, I ducked, saying, "I don't want that cold."
"I don't have a cold."
"Nah, not really."
"You mean, you drug me with you to the doctor, fighting for your life... for nothing?"
"Well, I was sick, but you never helped me make the solution that would help me get over the cold."
"Oh, so this is my fault... that you didn't use the medicine?"
"Yeah, kind of. You're lucky I got through all that on my own."
"I thought you said you didn't really have a cold anyway."
"I didn't. Kiss me."