Thank Goodness, this week is coming to a close.
Surviving the past seven days has put into perspective any and all consecutive bad days that I might have written about in the past weeks or months. And I refer to any and all bad days leading up to, but not including, those which occurred this past week. Because. It was truly a hair-raising week of GOOD TIMES. And I do mean it was an f.u.n. week.
Just to put a spotlight on one ‘eency’ part of this fun week, let’s talk about being a mother and getting the stomach flu. Let’s just savour how enjoyable THAT one is. It is a joy, let me tell you. A JOY.
The flu hit our home on Sunday evening, fast and furious. And I don’t know about you, but in our house, as soon as someone starts throwing up, I begin monitoring what I am eating and what it might possibly look like regurgitated in another few hours. Pause for reflection. Anyhoo. Child One was sick. And sick she stayed through Sunday evening and all day Monday. Going on false hope and a tad bit too much optimism, I got ready for work Tuesday only to hear the words, “Mom, so-and-so just threw up again,” moments before I walked out the door to work. As I was dialing the principal with the phone in one hand, I was sopping up someone’s freshly eaten breakfast with the other.
Sub plan number two now needed.
Home we stayed Tuesday. My little patient and I. And I will admit. I do love being home with a sick child. Darling children. They are so passive and agreeable and sweet. Love their hearts.
By Wednesday morning, things were looking up. I cautiously readied myself for work and ran out the door before anyone could recount any horror stories of vomiting on the living room floor. And off we all went, kiddos and I, living in the dream world. Fantasy land. Carry the stomach flu virus happily around town, each and every place we went. (Sorry folks.) But to be totally fair, we were truly ignorant to our status. That status being that we were still contagious. And that unfortunate fact being unbeknownst to us. I, for one, thought we were all better.
Well, if you recall. On Wednesday evening , ‘Someone’ in our family ran into the camper with the four-wheeler. Then, the as the evening wore on, an athletic racoon showed up in our shop, eating the cat food. It was an eventful night. And I don’t know if all this excitement made my stomach get a bit twirly. Or what. Whatever it was, it was just enough for me to wonder whether or not it was ‘me nerves’ or something more viral going through the system. Of course. Again. I should have known.
About 8:30 that evening, I was putting M.A. to bed when I realized, ‘this is not the after-effects of damaging our camper’. Nor was it the effects of putting the kiddos to bed solo. I was indeed coming down with it. The flu.
And rather than recount the times and places and scenes and extreme grossness of it all. Let me leave you with this thought. Picture a writhing animal pinned under the back tire of a truck. That’s just about the way I remember Wednesday night.
So, needless to say, what was getting me through the horror of it all- indeed what I was clinging to like a drowning woman holding onto drift-board for dear life- was the thought: “My children will all be at school tomorrow and I will lie comatose in bed all day whilst they whittle the hours away under the watchful eyes of their teachers/substitutes.” It was a hopeful, motivating thought that kept me from screaming out to Hubby to take me by ambulance to the nearest Emergency Room for narcotics. Believe me…I was THIS close to that possibility.
Mixed in with those crazed thoughts and animal-like desires for something STRONGER, was another significant moment of this most unfortunate event in my horrific week. The tub baths. Long ago, when I was pregnant and nauseous with any of our four children, the only thing that brought me temporary relief was soaking in the hospital Jacuzzi tub. So, Wednesday evening (and all night long, really), in between stuffing my head inside a garbage can and dragging myself to the bathroom, I somehow found the energy to run a hot bath and throw myself headlong into the water. Where I lay like an albino alligator waiting for the next best thing. These hot baths. They worked like a charm. And I drifted in and out of consciousness until there was more water on the floor than in the tub. Highly recommend it to anyone who happens to get sick with this measly bug next.
As I lay soaking in the tub, for the second time through that unfortunate night, the thought occurred to me, “I must get out of this tub before the children awake to find their naked mother asleep in the bathtub.” And as I was just barely wrapping the towel around my shaking white legs- instantly freezing in the night air, I heard the pitter-patter of little feet outside the door.
Me: (Kill.me.now.)…and then…
“Just a minute, just a minute…what is it, M.A.?”
M.A.: “I just threw up.”
7:30 a.m., as I am writing up my substitute plan in a haze of muddled thoughts and achy limbs, Hubbie says to me, “And…another one just threw up.”
Sleep, rest, recovery. So much for that.
And that, folks, is just a eency, tiny portion of my lovely, F.U.N. week. Let the good times keep rollin’.