Seventh Day of a Caregiver's Cold

I woke up on the seventh day of my cold feeling worse than I have felt in a very long time, and I realize that this is not a cold any longer, if it ever was.

I am lucky enough to get in to see a doctor on the same day. Sinus infection, she says. She prescribes amoxicillin, 500mg, three capsules twice a day for two weeks. "Oh, and by the way," she says, "it may take a week for you to start feeling better."

Great. I've been feeling badly for a week already. This is just great.

I stop by the nursing home to see Romeo. Probably shouldn't, but I haven't seen him for seven days.

When I arrive, Romeo is foggy. He is slow, he looks like his mind is far away, he barely notices me. This goes on for about 10 minutes. That's okay. I wasn't expecting him to come out of the fog at all during my visit, so it was good to have him back.

I'm there for only 40 minutes. Not long enough, I surmise (based on what, I don't know), to spread the sinus infection germs. As I'm getting ready to leave, to go home, to lie down and rest, Romeo confides in me.

"You know," he says, "when you first came in, I didn't know who you were."

"What?"

"When you got here, I didn't recognize you."

"Really?" That explains Romeo's fog. This is also the very first time Romeo has not recognized me. I hadn't seen him for seven days, and that's all it took for him to forget me. What a sweet soul he is to tell me, to speak it as if it were an every day occurrence.

Am I sad? Upset? Grieving? No. Right now, all I want to do is go home, lie down, and give this sinus infection room to heal. I'll process today's events later.