When I was young and under the weather, I would be allowed (required?) to stay in my room. Meals would be brought on a tray: vegetable or tomato soup; toast; ginger ale. If I were really fortunate, the tiny black-and-white television would be set up on a chair in my room. There was not much to watch -- this was in the days long before cable or even VCRs, and certainly before remote control -- and I'd be stuck with whatever channel to which the television was first tuned, as I did not feel like getting out of the warmth of bed to go turn the knob to change the channel. Shows like The New Zoo Revue and The Banana Splits were the standard fare. Occasionally Mom would stop by with those orange-flavored chewable aspirin, or the prescribed antibiotic pills ground up and mixed with a small amount of applesauce. She would encourage me to go take a quick shower, and she'd change the bed linens so everything would be fresh and comfortable when I came back clean.
Despite the illness, and a bit of accompanying ennui, it was sort of a treat.
One of the hardest parts about being an adult is coming to terms with the fact that my time for receiving such care has passed. Now that I am grown up, I must forge forward despite any germs. Pets still need care, bills still need to be paid. Work e-mails must be answered. Housework must be accomplished, groceries must be present. Offspring (and sometimes spouse) need food, and periodic guidance (though, mercifully, they are primarily self-sufficient at this stage). My responsibility now is to nurture others. Give, not receive. Thus it is.
Secretly, though, I miss the luxury of dedicating a guilt-free day or two to naught but naps and comfort food and immune system activities. Most of all, I miss being looked after. Alas. Such it is.
The New Zoo Revue animals were found at the Hollywood Investigator, here: http://www.hollywoodinvestigator.com/newzoorevue.htm
Henrietta Hippo was my favorite.
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