Love in the Time of Mild Congestion

In my work as a gerontologist, I spend my days talking people through some of the more complicated pieces of aging. Chronic conditions. Care plans. The occasional family standoff over who actually lost the blood pressure cuff. Which is why it always amuses me that one of the clearest windows into a couple’s coping styles is something as humble as a head cold. Nothing dramatic. Nothing risky. Just enough congestion to test a marriage.

In many households, one spouse takes a cold as a minor administrative hiccup. They sniff once, shrug twice, and carry on with whatever they were doing. This is the spouse who will say things like, “It’s fine, I’ll power through,” while sounding like someone stuffed cotton balls directly into their sinuses. They do not pause. They do not complain. They only rest when gravity forces the issue. Even then, they keep a to-do list on the nightstand.

Their counterpart meets the exact same virus with a level of seriousness usually reserved for Greek myths. This is the spouse who makes eye contact and announces, “I feel something coming on,” as if a storm is forming off the coast and we should bring in the patio furniture. A sore throat is reported early and often. Nasal congestion is documented with the precision of a field researcher. Requests for tea carry a tone that suggests this may be the final tea of their life. They settle into the couch with blankets arranged like a ceremonial robe. They offer health updates at regular intervals, each one delivered with the gravity of a press briefing.

What fascinates me is not the contrast, but the consistency. Couples tend to fall into these roles and stay there for decades. One is stoic. One is theatrical. Both are entirely sincere. Both are convinced they have mastered the correct method of cold management.

The truth, of course, is that a cold does what it wants. Rest helps. Hydration helps. Time wins. But the whole spectacle gives us a gentle, low stakes way to see how people respond to vulnerability. Some tighten their grip on control. Some lean into comfort. Some simply want an audience.

And in the end, the cold passes, the household steadies, and everyone forgets the drama until the next sneeze sets the cycle in motion again. It is one of the simpler reminders that love is not just found in the big moments. Sometimes it is in the way we hand each other tissues.