Helped to Death

A few years ago Mom and I were in Washington D.C. She got a sore throat, so I offered to walk to a nearby grocery store to buy something to make her feel better. She made it clear that she would go to the store herself, and proceeded to tell me about how being babied when sick was a sure way to make things worse. Her sore throat didn't stop her from giving me examples of people she knew who were 'helped to death.' Apparently, helping people just makes them weak.
I don't know if she ended the lecture with the story about growing up on the farm, but she could have. I've heard it many other times. If a horse gets sick, and you let it lay down, it will die. Keep 'em up and walking.
I agree to an extent. An well-trained athlete will lose muscle tone after three days in bed. I guess that means I would be a glob of jelly after about seventeen hours. Plus, if you just lay around, you have nothing to think about except how much it hurts.
There's a couple family stories that go along with this. This is a little bit long for a blog, but I think I'll write one of them anyway.
When Dad's mother was in her mid-seventies, she slipped on some ice and broke her hip. In those days, a broken hip was practically a death sentence for an old person, so everyone was walking on egg shells while she convalesced. Once she was out of the hospital and back in her home, my aunts took turns taking care of her. Grandma stayed in bed with a bell on the nightstand so that she could ring if she needed anything.
When my aunts got worn out, it was Mom's turn, but not for long. The first thing Mom did was take the bell away. Grandma was up and using a cane in no time. Not only did she not die, but she went on to live a normal life for another fifteen years.
But still, when it came to a sore throat far from home, I didn't really see what was wrong with Mom resting while I got her some cough drops, but she is my mother so I didn't want to aggravate her.
Nancy Sherer