The sick bed

When I was little, I was sick quite a bit. And if it wasn't me, it was my sister. This was before the vaccinations for measles and chicken pox and whatever else. So I had all the measles varieties and scarlet fever and earaches galore. And with every ailment, our sickbed wasn't our bed. It was the living room sofa.

Was it because that's the room with the black and white TV, something to be turned on so our little minds could zone out? So Mother could be in the kitchen and still hear us? So the doctor who was making the house call (oh, yes, he did) had to only walk a few steps into the house and his patient was there?

I don't know the reason, but I do know we continue the practice. Once ailing, your bed becomes the den couch. There's a straight shot view of same from the kitchen and while there are other TVs in the house, this is the biggest. As to the house calls, well, that has fallen by the wayside.

I bring this up because I've spent my day on the couch in the den. The TV has been off but I have a straight shot view of the empty kitchen and a cat to ease my ills. I guess there are still doctors who make house calls, they just live there, have four legs, and provide (if they're in the mood), the proper care and comfort.