It has been a few weeks since my last post on my blog. First, my husband and two kids contracted the flu. After bragging about my robust immune system to anyone who would listen, I then got sick with what appeared to be the flu. I say the flu because of its complete decimation of my person. (I thought about going to my doctor to get tested, but I simply didn’t have the energy to cross the bridge over to her office.) My middle son has survived this flu invasion unscathed (he is half robot). The CDC says the flu vaccine is about 23% effective. This makes sense, as only 20% of our family did not get sick, despite five flu vaccines.
After celebrating the fifth anniversary of our vow renewal ceremony (this has become our de facto wedding anniversary, because January seems to work better for us than the legal date in June), I started feeling bad. Come Monday I was running a fever, which did not decide to break until Friday. I suspected the flu because of the complete exhaustion element. All I could do on Monday and Tuesday was sleep with spurts of consciousness spent watching HGTV. When you have to set an alarm clock to wake up at 1:00 p.m., things are not normal, unless you are working night shifts.
On Wednesday, after napping away the morning, I decided this whole sickness thing might be mental, and perhaps some fresh air would perk me up. So I gather up the two dogs whose combined weight outweighs me to take on a casual stroll around the neighborhood on the way to pick up my daughter from the bus stop. The dogs pull this way and that, and I am incredibly grateful that our German Shepherd did not see the errant Chow running near us. Our Great Dane mix did, and she pulled on the leash with all of her 80 pounds trying to get to the Chow. The Chow looked our way, assessed the dogs and wisely decided to change course and jaunt off in a different direction. Crisis averted.
Once we got home, I was completely exhausted, as if I had just run a marathon, and decided to start putting a dent in the growing pile of laundry. By the end of the day, my fever had spiked up again. I guess fresh air wasn’t going to shake this thing, and being sick wasn’t just in my head.
On Thursday, my oldest child had an event at her school she desperately wanted to attend. We dutifully completed her homework in the afternoon, and I sold my husband on the idea of taking her back up to school for the evening festivities. Don’t worry about me, I reassured him. I can easily get our two sons down to bed on my own. Yep, I’m starting to feel better.
After being in nearly full-time childcare for the beginning of the week, due to my inability to care for them and relentless need for sleep, my two sons were beyond tired and cranky. I had to put my two-year-old, Blaine, in a near chokehold to brush his teeth. I then wrangled him up the stairs as he convulsed his body and screamed. Like one of the Super Bowl players, he was in “beast mode.” We then tussled on the bathroom floor for about five minutes as I attempted to contain his body while simultaneously trying to unzip his jacket. He was determined to keep that jacket on. I began to break out in a cold sweat from the exertion. I finally got him undressed and in the bathtub, victorious. He tried to throw a few toys out in protest, as well as the tub mat, and I was prepared to climb in there if necessary, as he is prone to throw his head and body back when angry.
The bath seemed to calm my toddler down, and we peacefully made our way to his bedroom to get dressed and ready for bed. Shoot, I realized, his bed needs to be made with new sheets, and I have to wedge an inflatable barrier under the fitted sheet so our son won’t roll out in the middle of the night. I struggled mightily to fit the inflatable bedrail underneath the too short and too tight fitted sheet. Unbeknownst to me, my husband and daughter just happened to check out the video monitor to Blaine’s room at that moment and chuckled watching me struggle with the bedding as they enjoyed pizza and bingo.
After the usual reading routine, exhausted and frazzled, I got Blaine to bed, and then turned my attention to his four-year-old brother, Brooks. Of course he refused to take a bath as well, so after much cajoling and idle threats, he was nearly ready for bed. At that time, my husband and daughter arrived home, my fever spiked up to a new high, and my other half could wisely say “I told you so,” about the decision to attend the school function.
Lucky for me, my fever broke the next day. I assured my husband I could handily get the children off to school. At 6:30 a.m., Brooks proceeded to have an accident and pee a huge geyser on our couch. I could picture the urine seeping into the cushions, where it would forever live and add to the smells of our home. Twenty minutes later, Blaine approached me crying about something on his hand. Turns out it was covered in his own fecal matter. After clean-up efforts, Blaine wanted to play outside, so I started with the dreaded task of shoveling up the unending piles of dog poop. Wouldn’t you know it, I managed to step in a huge one. Friday was quickly turning to shit.
Mercifully, the weekend arrived, and we spent the next few days catching up on massive piles of laundry, taking copious amounts of medicine and arguing about who needed sleep the most (my husband still has lingering effects from the flu). Bright spots included watching the Super Bowl and dissecting the commercials and half-time entertainment. Unlike Super Bowls of my younger years, this year involved taking a shot of Nyquil and praying I didn’t knock out until after the fourth quarter. I also wanted some game day snacks, but I was coughing so much I didn’t know if I could logistically chew food and cough at the same time. (My love for food won out, and I scarfed down some homemade nachos – yummy!)
Perhaps in a feeling of guilt due to the utterly wasted first part of the week, I spent a good chunk of Sunday de-cluttering my daughter’s bedroom, which could have appeared on an episode of “Hoarders.” Seashells, dried up Silly Putty, thousands of unmatched Barbie shoes, mangled Christmas bows, cardboard boxes turned puppet theater – it was amazing what she had managed to stockpile over her six years of life. Every dress-up purse I opened up was chock full of random stuff like marbles and sea glass. Toward the end of this huge undertaking, she told me that someone could pay me “like $55,000” for this type of work. I took that as a compliment, from one hoarder to another.
I remember when I was a child, having a sick day and missing school could be fun. Now I’m not talking the flu or strep throat variety of sick. Perhaps the culprit would be a garden-variety virus of the low-grade fever producing kind, allowing me to lie in bed and watch cartoons instead of schlepping to school. As a parent, however, I dread getting sick. The homework, chores and kids’ activities continue as the shell of your former self tries to keep up. I was fortunate this time that my husband was not deployed and that we had the availability of drop-in day care.
At some point, however, the novelty of lying in bed and watching TV begins to wear off – I want to rejoin society as a productive and contributing member. As a new week begins, I am fever-free but with a very annoying cough. I don’t have that pep in my step back. I am looking forward to returning to the gym, teaching Zumba, siphoning caffeine and feeling like myself again.
Here’s to hoping this flu season doesn’t hang around much longer.
How do you cope when you are sick? If you have children, what are your strategies for parenting when you aren’t feeling 100%? Also, what is your favorite TV guilty pleasure when you are under the weather?