Vocal Point: Rent-a-mom would be great

It’s late March and Richard and I are both sick as dogs.

He has massive head congestion, headache and a sore throat and feels so wretched he’s missing three days from work, a rare event.

I’ve got bronchitis, an ear and throat infection and am currently living in some parallel world, undiscovered until now.

We’re sick together, never a good combination. Who takes care of whom?

We move about in our own crotchety little worlds of misery, occasionally commiserating, moaning and discussing our symptoms. Mostly we flop together on our recliner love seat, drinking quarts of hot tea, reading and dozing. We don’t have energy to watch a DVD.

Each sneeze and scrape-the-barrel cough prompts our cat Casey to “blerp” little protests. (Still, draped on our laps, she rides out the waves.)

It’s snowing heavily, adding to the inches already on the ground, and we’re alone. We have no family to help us out and our friends are occupied with busy lives, family demands, jobs, ailments and snow-shoveling.

Neither of us feels like cooking, but with my gluten- intolerance, there are extremely few processed or frozen food items we can buy when Rick makes a quickie foray to the grocery store. I long for my favorite comfort food, home-made chicken shepherd’s pie with mashed potatoes, but it’s too labor-intensive. I make three quarts of a simple chicken vegetable noodle soup with canned broth and pre-cooked chicken. For several days we live on that and easy stuff like cheese sandwiches, applesauce and eggs.

Whoopee.

What we could really use is a mom.

We’re back on our feet now, but during those long days I found myself fantasizing. I’m certain there’s a business fortune to be made by some savvy entrepreneur, assisting people sick or injured and alone, too bleary or incapacitated to drive.

I’ve even thought up a catchy business name: Rent-A-Mom.

Rent-A-Mom wouldn’t be afraid of your germs. She’d do little necessary errands, like pick up groceries, prescriptions and library books. She’d take out and pick up your mail from the mailbox down the street.

She’d cook the foods you crave when you’re sick, using your favorite recipes, and bake you cookies. And, if you have food allergies with cross-contamination issues, she’d make them in your kitchen with your ingredients.

Rent-A-Mom would plump your pillows and change your bed. She’d increase morale by neatening your place up a bit, wiping down counters, washing and putting dishes away, etc., while never making you feel like a slob. She’d drive you to the doctor if necessary. She’d bring cheer into households where people are so zapped that picking up a fresh tissue is heavy lifting.

She’d listen sympathetically to your depressing Symptom Lament and say soothingly, “I know, it’s awful, dear. But I’m here for you and you’ll feel better soon. Now, did you take your medicine? Is there anything I can get you? Do you need a shoulder massage?”

Wouldn’t that be wonderful?

Once recovered, I discussed Rent-A-Mom with my friend Linda Thompson, who enthusiastically embraced the concept. Linda has a form of muscular dystrophy, with attendant ailments, and has lots of bad days. She and her husband Mike are familiar with our scenario.

“There are veterinarians that come to your home,” she noted. “Why not also chiropractors, massage therapists, hair stylists and others to provide home services? And, yes, I want a Rent-A-Mom!”

Rent-A-Moms would be bonded and licensed, so you’d know that Orient & Flume art glass piece wouldn’t be going out the door in her pocket. Actually, Rent-A-Mom would scold anyone who would do something like that.

When you were well, Rent-A-Mom would call a couple weeks later to see how you were doing. “Just checking, dear,” she would say.

And insurance would cover at least part of it.

Just contemplate the idea.

You’re sick. You’re mowed down.

Who ya gonna call?

Rent-A-Mom!