Sympathy Please

Did you ever notice how in any movie that is set before the 20th century, if someone is sick in bed with a fever, there is always a nurse or close relative stationed by the bedside with a bowl of cool water and a washcloth with which to dab the patient's forehead. 

It didn't matter whether the patient's fever was caused by an infected sword wound, a poisoned arrow in the back or a nasty case of the black plague... and it certainly didn't matter that the only 'medicines' available were foul tasting herbal teas and strong spirits.  The deciding factor in the patient's survival or demise was, without a doubt, the skill and devotion with which the nurse or relative applied the well-wrung washcloth to the perspiring patient's feverish brow throughout the illness.

I mention this in passing [~cough cough~] because, having fended for myself all day Friday and Shabbat in bed with a nasty case of the flu or Tuberculosis, with nothing but self-administered over-the-counter cold remedies to ease my suffering, I feel somewhat justified in saying that perhaps something was lacking in my care.  During the long hours of alternating fever and chills, I found myself longing for some of that old-time medical treatment... like in the movies.

Seriously, what ever happened to the devoted wife or child sitting patiently by the sick father's bedside, mopping his fevered brow with a cool washcloth?  I didn't even have a current copy of the 'New Yorker' or 'Wired' Magazine to keep me company during the long vigil!  [~sniff~]

I'm just saying...  man cannot not live by Nyquil® alone!   [~cough cough~]

[UPDATE:  Wouldn't you know it.  I wanted to call in sick today but I had a 'must attend' meeting scheduled.  After driving an hour to work and pouring myself into my chair, I noticed a new message in my inbox saying the meeting had been postponed to Wednesday.]