I’d been battered, and beaten, and left for dead.

Done twelve rounds with Mohammed Ali.

That’s how it had been, in my fuzzy head,

yet today I feel something like glee.

The sinus flood had disappeared,

and so mbreathing itself had eased.

My nose wasn’t blocked and my head didn’t hurt,

And i was just ever so pleased.

In my wallowing self-pity, I just hadn’t seen

that my missus had had a rough ride.

I’m a terrible patient, moody and mean.

Gave no thanks for her being my side.

As my symtoms fade, and my vision clears

I can see that I passed it  sickness on

She suffers in silence, without complaint or tears

She’ll fight till the battle is won.

Looking weary and sick, I know how she feels

and my feelings of guilt are intense

but I’ll be there for her, as she was for me, caring in every sense.

This silent invader has her on the run, and my heart feels a genuine tug

“I know that it is awful now, I say, but you’ll be OK, after the bug.”