Chéri and I recently joined a very select club, and any of its members would tell you that a sneeze is never just a sneeze.
We got automatic membership when Chéri was diagnosed with sarcoidosis.
I never thought I’d someday become the kind of person who carries hand sanitizer at all times, and who thinks about sniping down people who couldn’t care less about covering their mouth when they cough (especially in little rooms). But here I am, discovering how people in general are dangerous to friends, co-worker and total strangers with a weak imune system…
It’s a very swell club. Oh, we don’t put up great get-togethers to socialize. We don’t have weird rituals, or throw extravagant parties… But we do have a secret handshake, though it doesn’t actually involve the use of hands (because you know… germs!).
Although still quite a novice at the art of trying to keep Chéri not-ill, I was pretty proud of my care taking. Until last night.
I don’t get sick. Ok, I do, sometimes, but it is pretty rare.
Chéri was the one picking up every cold his co-workers passed on, at the office, as if they were in a kindergarden. I hadn’t really thought about what would happen if I got sick. So, when I woke up in the middle of the night, sneezing in a semi-sleeping state, it hit me.
OMG! I was getting a cold, and temporarely becoming Chéri’s worst enemy!
For anyone not familiar with sarcoidosis, having a bad cold, and spreading it in our apartment by my mere breathing in and out, is a little as if I decided to walk in our home blindfolded, and started shooting a gun randomly.
Except that I doubt I’ll ever wake up blindfolded and holding a pistol. And if I ever do, I know I won’t shoot.
But I don’t have to bother with that just now.
For the moment, I have to bathe in Purel, put on a medical mask, and hope that my cold will be the first that Chéri doesn’t catch.
I have a bad feeling about this.