Sick Boy

I’ve written before about Daniel’s (incredible, improbable, downright unfair) good looks and impeccable health. As a child I was perpetually ill and spent a significant amount of time in the hospital, and am therefore particularly jealous of Daniel’s lifetime of perfect health.

Reader, the jig is up. Daniel caught his first NYC illness, which may also be the first illness of his entire adult life. In the years we’ve been together, Daniel has never taken a sick day, never had a fever, never vomited, never had so much as a tummy-ache.

Once, he exercised too hard and bruised his lungs. That’s right, his only significant illness the entire time I’ve known the man was from excessive exercise. I mean, come on.

But New York changed all that. New York, city of infinite Subway germs, city of unknown substances Marcy likes to roll in, city of questionably maintained food carts… New York City got Dan sick. And Dan suffered like a true New Yorker: loudly and often.

Just kidding. The poor guy went from never being sick in his life to being sick on his birthday. He had his first Sick on the Subway experience. His first NYC Urgent Care trip. His first time on the BRAT diet. His first (and good god, hopefully last) night spent laying on the bathroom floor while his devoted wife applied cool washcloths to his sweaty forehead.

It wasn’t exactly the list of firsts we were hoping to add to our NYC list, but it seems like we have to document it, don’t we? So, once more for the memory books, Dan’s first birthday in NYC: prostrate and feverish.

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