Kiki: “When this happened to me, nobody paid any attention to me”

It started with a tickle in my throat, as it often does

But the itch turned into a nagging cough, my head felt as if it was filled with cotton, and my nose seemed like a leaky faucet. I already knew: this was going to be one of those times. But being sick, really sick, just wasn't an option. Not with four kids and a husband like Theo, who was always busy with his job at the police force. Theo did work shorter days, especially when I was feeling under the weather, but I knew by now what that meant: he picked up the kids from school, made sure there was a meal on the table, and played with the kids. I had to figure it out on my own.

That morning I knew I wouldn't make it

My body felt like lead, and even getting out of bed was impossible. “Theo, I am really sick,” I said, while I continued to lie on my pillow. Theo nodded briefly. “I'll pick up the kids later, and I'll make sure there's something to eat. Try to get some sleep, okay?” He kissed my forehead and was gone. And there I was. Left to my own devices, with tissues, a half-empty water bottle, and a phone that was my only connection to the outside world.

Around lunchtime, I felt even worse

My head was pounding, and I knew I needed to drink something, but the thought of going downstairs myself felt like an impossible task. So I sent Theo a text message. Can you make me a cup of tea and bring it upstairs? I saw that he read it – the two blue checkmarks appeared right away – but there was no response. Minutes passed. Maybe he was busy with the kids, I thought. But then I heard his voice from downstairs, loud and clear.

“Your tea is on the counter!” he called out

I sighed deeply. Of course. On the countertop. I felt so ill that I could barely move, yet I was expected to shuffle downstairs. I texted back: I'm really very sick. Can't you bring it to me? No response. Just silence. When I finally mustered the courage to go downstairs, my tea was on the countertop, cooled down. The kids were in the living room, chatting away about their day at school, while Theo was in the kitchen, stirring something in a pan. He looked up when I came in. “You really should try to drink something,” he said, without a hint of sympathy. I felt like crying. Was it really that hard to make a little extra effort just once? I felt as if I was invisible, as if being sick didn't entitle me to a bit of care.

But nothing surpassed that time with the stomach flu

That was absolute hell. I was at the mercy of a body that refused to keep anything down, whether it was water, crackers, or medicine. I remember trying to explain to Theo how miserable I felt early in the morning, just after he had finished his short shift. “Can you maybe do a bit more with the kids today? I really can't do anything,” I said weakly, leaning half against the wall in our bathroom.

Theo nodded

“I'll pick them up from school and make some food. But you really need to try to rest, Kiki. You'll feel better for it.” Rest? How could I rest when my body was constantly fighting with itself and I didn't even have the comfort of a partner willing to go the extra mile? Later that day, when I could barely sit up, I sent Theo another message. Can you bring a jug of water?Again those blue checkmarks, followed by nothing. An hour later, I heard him downstairs with the kids. Laughing, talking, squabbling over a video game. And there I was, lying with a dry mouth and feeling like my illness didn't matter to anyone.

Around dinner time, I heard his voice coming from under the door

"Dinner is ready!" he called out. Men really don't understand anything about women who are sick. Apparently. I couldn't even respond. How could he think that I would come downstairs at all? I texted him again: I'm too sick to walk. Can't you bring it up?"It's on the counter," he called back, as if that was the most logical solution in the world. "The kids also want to see you."

I lay there and stared at the ceiling

How could someone make so little effort? I knew he didn't mean any harm. As if asking for care was a luxury I couldn't afford. I texted that I really couldn't come downstairs. “Let the kids come up later, and bring my dinner with you”. There. Sorted.

The next morning I felt a bit better, but my body was still broken

It had taken a severe hit. I felt exhausted. As I slowly stepped down, I saw Theo sitting at the dining table with a cup of coffee. He looked up and said, “Are you feeling a bit better?” I replied, “A little. But Theo… do you know how hard it was for me?” He shrugged. “Didn’t I take care of the kids? The most important thing is that you get some rest.”

Rest?

I had everything but peace. I felt invisible, ignored, as if being sick was a luxury. And at that moment, I decided that I didn't want this anymore. That the next time I got sick, I would demand of myself to ask for more. Because everyone deserves a bit of care. Even me. As a mother.

I decided that I had to say something

Not with accusations, not with anger, but clearly. Because if I didn't express how I felt, how would anything ever change? So that evening, after the children were in bed, I sat down next to him on the couch and looked at him. “Theo,” I started, “I know you're doing your best, but when I'm sick… I feel so alone. I need you, really need you. Not just to take care of things, for the children, but to take care of me.” Being heard was the first step.

How is it with other mothers? Do you also do everything by yourself when you're sick?

KIKI