Oh my goodness, is he ill? What state is he in?” gasped the mother-in-law. “He’s just sleeping. It’s nothing serious, just a slight fever—perfectly normal, winter’s here after all.

**Diary Entry A Winter Bug**

*”What do you mean, ‘come down with something’? How bad is he?”* gasped my mother-in-law. *”Just resting. Nothing seriousa slight fever, thats all. Winters setting in.”* *”This isnt just winter!”* she huffed. *”Its your jobyou bring all sorts of germs home from that checkout! How many times must I say it? Find another job!”*

I was asleep when a loud noise startled mesomeone had flung the front door open! Rubbing my eyes, I glanced at the clockbarely 8 a.m.

*”Oliver, love, is that you?”* I called out, listening for movement in the flat.

No answer. Just the sound of the bathroom door creaking open then silence.

I threw on my dressing gown and hurried barefoot to the bathroom.

When I opened the door, I froze.

There stood Oliver, stretching his lips wide, admiring his tongue in the mirror.

*”Emma, is it true your tongue goes white if youre poorly?”* he asked.

*”Are you ill?”* I mumbled, still half-asleep.

*”Think so,”* he sighed, pressing a hand to his forehead. *”Need a thermometer. Where is it? Let me lie down. They even sent me home from work. Might need a doctor.”*

I fetched the thermometer. Sure enough37.5°C. Typical. Winter arrives, and Olivers down with it. The GP came within the hour and signed him off work.

I rang Mum: *”Could you pick up Charlie from nursery? Olivers illdont want him bringing it home.”*

She was delighted. Adores her grandson, lives alonehes her little joy.

*”Is Oliver alright? Nothing serious?”*

*”No, just a bug. The GPs beenrest and meds, thats all.”*

*”And you? Feeling alright?”* Mum fretted.

*”Fine! Im on the late shiftasked Olivers mum to check on him tonight. Shops packed evenings, cant even ring him.”*

*”Ill? How ill?”* His mother gasped when I called.

*”Just sleeping it off. A mild feverwinter, you know.”*

*”Winter? Pah! Its that job of yoursdragging germs home from that till! How many times must I”*

*”Margaret, Im not ill! Youve said yourself Oliver was always poorly as a child. Frosts herehardly my fault!”*

I cut her off before she could spiral. Margaret could turn a sneeze into a crisis. Wouldnt surprise me if she turned up within the hour. Finelet her fuss. I needed to get ready for work anyway.

And there she was, bursting in with boxes of herbal remedies*”just in case.”* She tutted, swapping Olivers damp t-shirt. *”Letting him lie there soakedhell get worse! Dont you check?”*

*”Margaret, he was asleepwhat was I meant to do?”*

At work, a creeping weakness hit me. Oh nonot me too. But no complaints. Just get through the shift. That evening, my temperature was higher than Olivers. I nearly whinged to himbut he was too busy studying his tongue in the mirror.

*”Still white,”* he muttered.

Right. No falling ill. No point complaining eitherMum would call every five minutes with advice, Margaret would blame me, and Oliver? Oblivious.

Decision made: swallow pills, work, keep quiet. The mortgage wont pay itself.

All week, Oliver wallowed like the worlds most tragic maneven at 37°C, he *”felt dreadful.”* Margaret swooped in daily with tonics. The last thing I wanted was her spotting *my* pale face.

Oliver noticed nothingdozing between telly and phone. By day four, my temperature finally normalised. Exhaustion lingered, but I pushed through. Meanwhile, Olivers demands grewmeals in bed, drinks fetched, constant temperature checks.

Margaret claimed hed been sickly as a boyyet in five years of marriage, this was his first cold. Unbearable.

Every minor sniffle was a battle, with endless moaning.

Next week, he was cleared to work. Charlie came home. Over tea, Oliver sighed: *”Childhood colds were easier. This? Brutal. Youve no idea.”*

*”Really? Was it that bad?”*

*”Easy for you to sayyou were fine!”*

*”I wasnt. Had it all too. You just didnt notice.”*

He blinked, then smirkedas if catching me in a lie. *”Joking, right? Anywaybedtime.”*

I sighed. He *still* hadnt noticed.

Ah well.

Like that jokea woman whos given birth can *almost* understand what a man endures at 37 degrees