I was lucky as a kid – my dad worked out of our house as an architect and would take wonderful care of me when I was sick. There was never any worry about taking off work or whatnot, he was already there. My mom would call home periodically throughout the day and just let me tell her how terrible I felt and that alone would make me feel better. My dad would make soup, peanut butter toast, pb&j, mac and cheese, etc if I asked for it and would sit and watch tv with me and rub my head or back until I fell asleep.
The day before I went back to school my senior year of high school, I got extremely sick. I had been feeling badly all day at work but I didn’t think it was anything to worry about. Both of my parents just so happened to be out of town (I had a car and was pretty responsible, so they weren’t worried about leaving me on my own for a few days). I came home and sat down, and within a half-hour, I was doubled over in pain. I called both of my parents, boyfriend, and best friend repeatedly, and got no answer from any of them the whole night. I managed to call my school the next morning and explain that I was in terrible condition, and when I finally got a hold of my mom, she was convinced I had meningitis and was in hysterics. My dad finally came home and took me to the hospital, where they misdiagnosed me (that was an entirely different story), and I spent the rest of the week at home. My dad took the best care of me ever; he waited on me hand and foot (I couldn’t walk without terrible pain), made sure I had just what I wanted and needed, and sat with me for hours. I never did find out what I actually had…