There's Nothing Like Mom When You're Sick

I rarely get sick, but when I do, it's a tidal wave of germs. And being a control freak, the thing I hate most about getting sick is the fact that I cannot schedule the sickness. I recently got a really bad cold, and this totally conflicted with my social life. I got sick on a Wednesday, and as the week progressed, it got worse. By Saturday morning, the day of my 5K race, I was convinced that I had walking pneumonia or a bronchial tract infection. I ran half a mile with my friend Autumn, and then slinked off to the side to blend in with the crowd, inconspicuously taking off my racing number and untying the timing chip from my shoe lace. My lungs felt like they were on fire, and I wanted to vomit. I had a plane to catch to Arizona later that day, and I couldn't flake again.
And so it happened. I was that person on the plane that no one wants to sit next to. And since I was one of the last people on, I got to sit in the back between two people. I ordered my usual (a Chardonnay with a water back), and as we were making our final descent, I began coughing to the point where I threw up in my hand. Not sure what the etiquette for this was, I just shoved my vomit back in... This happened twice. It boggles the mind that no one looked my way, offered assistance or asked if I was OK. Damn you, Southworst!
My mom and stepdad picked me up, and as I told them that I was going to have to miss my friend Katie's birthday party that night because I felt like I needed to go to the hospital, my stepdad wouldn't hear of it. "You don't need to go to the hospital. We'll get you better." This was immediately followed by us pulling into the driveway, and then Jim walking into the entertainment room to watch a movie.
My mother must have felt the need to check the box for her one maternal duty of the year, and she made me a bowl of soup. However, as I sat at the counter talking to her, I had to blow my nose. I put the dirty kleenex on the counter, and without saying a word, my mom came around the corner with a garbage can saying "I don't want to touch that. There is a limit to a mother's love."
Feeling close to death, I finished my soup and walked down the hall to my bedroom, listening as Lysol was sprayed on the chair and counter where I was just sitting at. My cough wouldn't stop so I came outside and asked for cough syrup.
Mom: Sapphire, I have cough syrup, but its prescription. If anything would happen to you, I could get in trouble.
Never mind that I could die of pneumonia in her bed because of their blatant refusal to take me to Urgent Care.
Sapphire: I'm going to chance it. Give me the spoon.
I slept like a baby. The next morning I woke up, feeling a little better. Perhaps I was feeling cocky or I was delusional from my mother's LSD tripping cough syrup, but as we began our hour drive to Scottsdale, I didn't take any water or medicine.
Fifteen minutes into the drive, I still say due to the dusty Arizona desert, I started my cough of death all over again. My mother sighed, asking if I needed her to pull over. Really? Was pulling over really going to stop my cough? I finally managed to gasp "I need water."
Mom: OK. Should I stop at BP or Walgreens?
Is this really a pertinent question right now?
Sapphire (wheezing): It...doesn't...matter.
Mom: OK, then we'll go to Walgreens. I have a discount card for there.
I still can't figure out if the 13 cents that she would have saved on a single bottle of water would have went towards my portion of the will, but my mother will always be one of those couponing freaks that you see on the OWN Network.