Holy cow, what a week. Just when you think you have the Ph.D in parenting, there's always another phase to the course work. I know I'm not alone in this particular learning curve, though, because my pharmacist, otherwise known as my new best friend, has told me so. It's official: whether it's the flu, the norovirus, or a nasty stomach bug, every kid in the county is sick. And this week? It was our turn to wrestle with some Africanized virus that nearly took the family down. Yep: this was the week sickness nearly took down the Counce house.
Oh, you just think I'm exaggerating! But no...it was truly touch and go this week. Part of the problem was that Hubs went down with it first. It takes a lot to stagger Hubs, but whatever particular respiratory slice of hell this disease was certainly did it. They don't include "night sweats" in the wedding vows, folks, but they should. Shudder. I haven't allowed him to so much as break a five foot imaginary barrier around me all week. If I'd a had a SARS mask, I would have broken that sucker out days ago.
And what is it about men and doctors? His arm could be dangling by a tendon, and the average man will glance over at it and murmur something about duct tape being good for almost any repair. Not me. I'm a giant woman-baby. One degree of fever, a hint of discomfort, and I'm making a nuisance of myself to my PCP. The squeaky wheel gets the grease, or in this particular case, the appropriate antibiotics.
So about day three of Hubs' unmedicated misery, the inevitable: my five year old daughter got quiet and still. And if you know anything about my five year old daughter, there is no more dangerous time than when she is quiet and still. She is either plotting world domination or has a fever. This time, it was no murderous plot. But it was a nasty, nasty virus. Let the disease games begin. The quiet and still was soon replaced with nuclear-strength whining and weeping.
And begin the games certainly did: for three days, Hubs and daughter were laid low together. Who knew so much fluid could come out of such a little person? And forget sleep. A sore throat did not seem to deter my darling girl from screaming for her parents in the middle of the night every couple hours. Hours were spent half-dozing, half-upright on the sofa. Sheets practically had to be boiled.
And the medicine drama! Please tell me I am not alone in having to pin my kid to the floor with my knees on their shoulders in order to administer what must be medicine mostly made of sugar. I cannot the only parent who brings back a bloody stump trying to wipe raw noses. Antibiotics. Fever reducers. Mucus looseners. Throat sprays. It was a march of pharmaceuticals of which Michael Jackson would have been proud. And my daughter wasn't having a one of them without a slug fest.
Doctor's offices. Missed school and work. And a My Little Pony marathon played out over the week that I am certain has shaved a dozen IQ points off me. Tantrums. Whining. Yards and yards of snotty Kleenex. Steamy baths. I have been Nurse Ratched, transformed to Nurse Wretched by miserable family members. It turns out the old saying is true: familiarity breeds contempt. And by the end of this week, I have been with these patients way too much.
So here's to the Earth turning on its axis, time passing, and the end of this horrid cold and flu season. And here's to every parent out there dealing with sick kids or being sick yourself. It takes everything you have. I have no patience for it. And no more patience for the patients. So those of us who so far seem to have escaped getting sick, let's toast to our health, wash our hands, and invest in some vitatmin C or something. Because I've had enough of playing nursemaid to last me the rest of the year. Now you'll have to pardon me. I'm off to look into laminating my children. Here's to health.
