You may think the title of this post is an exaggeration. I am sorry to share with you that it is not. Dadam and I just spent the better part of the last week so sick with pneumonia that we had difficulty carrying Leila around, walking down/up the stairs, and/or making meals for our children. It. Was. Awful. I sincerely hope that I am never that sick again in my life. Or if am that sick, that my partner in crime, rock, and truest help is not in the same (or worse) shape.
It all started while we were visiting Ping, Mike, G, Lo and Joe in NY. We try and get together a couple times a year. It is always nice to see one another and get to visit. We were having a really good time visiting and hanging out. On Sunday morning we got up and headed to Ithaca to go shopping and check out a hands on science museum that is there. Adam started feeling a bit under the weather. We stopped for dinner at Moosewood (an yummy vegetarian restaurant) and I really noticed that Adam wasn't well because he didn't finish his dinner. Monday morning we woke up and he was SICK. He had a fever and was achy and really was moving slow. It got worse. We continued with the visit (played in the snow - cute story later, went to hear the high school pep band that Mike directs, and ate dinner) all without poor Adam. Monday night Leila had a bit of a fever and I slept with the kids to give Adam the best possible sleep for the car ride home the next day. He was feeling better, but I was going downhill fast. We got in the car and THANK GOODNESS the kids were really content and the ride went smoothly because I was really starting to feel ill. We got home and we thought we were feeling better. We fed the kids, though neither one of us felt very hungry. Then we all headed to bed, sure that we would get up and feel better.
No dice. We woke up the next morning, feverish and in much worse shape. Adam mustered the energy to get the kids off to their respective schools, while I laid,comatose, around the house. Wednesday night we went to bed as soon as the kids were asleep, thinking that we'll feel better in the morning. Thursday morning we were feeling even worse because we both tossed and turned with fevers the entirety of the night. I got up with Elie on Thursday morning, but had to lay back down, almost immediately, in her room. Adam headed to the dr in the afternoon and got some antibiotics. I spent the rest of the day out of it, but then Friday morning I got some antibiotics. Last night we had a wonderful meal brought to us by the director of the preschool Isaac attends (I LOVE our community) and Adam's Dad came over and spent a majority of the day with us, doing laundry and having brought lunch with him.
Probably the worst part of the whole thing was that we were so sick, taking care of the kids was EXTREMELY difficult. Adam and I were, literally, only capable of the smallest tasks. I'm pretty sure we had a fever for the better part of three days. I'm glad that the kids were not sick. I'm glad that we never watch TV so that when I needed it to hold their attention, it did. I'm glad there were no emergencies. Looking back it seems like it was such a short time, really what's a few days. But it seemed like forever in the midst of it, so hopeless and really, really painful.
Now the kiddos are sick. Isaac and Talia got a fever yesterday, Elie got it this afternoon. I'm hoping they can push through it without getting pneumonia. I guess we'll see. In true Isaac style, he puked last night, twice. The first time I was sitting with him, all wrapped up in a blankie, in my lap. He started throwing up and he just emptied his tummy. Poor thing. Adam came down and got him. Thankfully he had not a drop on him. Me, not so lucky. But I scooped as much of it off and I went straight to the wash and stripped down. (The second time we were all dead asleep, but Isaac woke feeling urpy and was standing on tiptoe with his head in the trashcan that sits on top of my bedside table! Clean up was much, much, much nicer that time 'round.)
While he was throwing up all over me, I started thinking about my Mom. Okay, okay, not the association you might expect. And no, it's not that my Mom makes me throw up or throws up or whatever. My Mom spent some time during my childhood cleaning up my barf. She cleaned it out of her bed, off her clothes, off my bed, out of my hair, out of her hair, out of the car...you get the picture. And not once do I have ANY recollection of her cringing, gagging, barfing herself (while she was dealing with me that is, I distinctly remember her barfing when she was sick), or generally making a big deal about the situation. She would comfort, hold the bowl, wipe our mouths, offer us water, and then go about the business of cleaning up. So matter of fact and without much trouble. (Maybe there was a bit of exasperation when I was sleeping in my parent's bed and sat straight up and threw up directly in front of me ALL OVER THE BED. If I had just turned my head it would have hit the floor instead, so I don't blame her for being a bit exasperated.) And here I was, in the same position, just letting him get it out and waiting to take care of it. Really, it was totally disgusting. Barf is gross. It smells and stains. If I had my druthers none of my kids would ever.barf.again. But it doesn't work that way. So I'll just get barfed on and then clean it up. Thanks Mom, for always being cool under pressure and calm when the barf hit the bowl (or not, as the case may have been). You've always been my hero and, since becoming a mom myself, now it's more like hero-worship!