This week, the girls and I came down with the flu. Mine was the wildly popular drug-resistant strain, while our youngest – the overachiever – tested positive for both Type A and B. At least she can take medicine for hers. Our older daughter wasn’t even officially screened, but with her mother, sister and most of her school out with the flu, the doctor figured she had to be guilty by association…and her 102-degree fever and aching legs backed that theory up.
Oh, and did I mention that all of this coincided with my 40th birthday?
Last year, I had a colonoscopy within hours after my special day, and this year the flu – which I’ve never in my life had before – hit out of the blue about 36 hours prior to the anniversary of my birth. I’m going to go ahead and pencil in locusts for next year because I’m pretty sure they’re coming.
Anyway, my poor husband has had to deal with the ensuing insanity in our house since these diagnoses. In addition to providing meals, doing laundry, washing sheets, cleaning up dishes and giving medicine to the girls, he’s tried to meet all of his normal job responsibilities as well. And don’t even get him started on the mood swings in a home full of sick females. The better the little ones feel with each passing day, the more sassy and annoying they become. I, on the other hand, have been a perfect angel. A perfect, hormonally balanced, completely modest angel.
But I digress. My husband has been walking around the house with a Lysol can in each hand, dressed much like the ever-beloved actor, John Travolta, in The Boy In The Plastic Bubble. I believe I also saw a written request for entry into the witness protection program, but I can’t be sure because I can’t get my watery eyes to focus properly.
The point is, if my long-suffering matrimonial partner comes down with the flu, then we’re toast. We have no backup plan. Just total and utter craziness.
One last thought. In approaching my milestone birthday this year, I felt that FORTY had to be one of the worst “F” words imaginable. Now I have several more that would rank higher: FLU. FEVER. FATIGUE. FLESH-EATING. (Actually, just kidding about that last one, although that would, in fact, be worse!)
And to my husband, I’m sorry. I was SO much healthier in my thirties.
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1 comment:
Oh Deb, what an AWFUL way to spend your 40th! Glad your hubby was there to take care of you! I had some kind of crud that has lasted 3weeks, but I work from home so it's not so bad, plus I got the cough syrup with codeine so after drinking half the bottle I didn't really care.
Hope you and the girls are doing better!
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