The Anatomy of a Cold
I was so sick yesterday. The most horribly sick I have a felt in a long time. As I lolled about on my bed, in and out of consciousness, I told myself that I should write about my experiences.
Friday: Windy day, a strange little feeling in the back of my throat – like a crumb from my Cobb’s Bakery (darlings I live in Oakville now!) scone got lodged on my uvula and no amount of throat clearing, sniffing and, errr, snorting (sorry!) would disengage it.
Saturday: Awoke with a slightly sore throat, but no matter, it was Gracie’s first big swim meet and all attention was focused on her. Edie a little pale, complaining of a sore throat and she had a runny nose, but this did not stop me from engaging in some serious cuddles/kisses/sharing of water bottle (when will I learn?) throughout the day. After the swim meet we went off to the pub (en famille, no roster of babysitters established yet in this here town). Throat feeling mighty tickily now, but two pints of Guinness later, tickly quickly turns to warm and fuzzy.
Sunday: Gah, stupid feeling still at the back of my throat and I feel kinda tired. No matter, I have dinner guests coming tonight! Edie looking quite pale, dramatically languishing on the couch with only iCarly bringing her any respite. I call the dinner guests to warn of impending plague, but this gal lives life on the edge and happily came with her family anyways. Sneezing begins. I wishful think and convince myself that I must be getting some allergies - my Mom equates all sneezing/running noses/coughing/red eyes with “every damn thing is in bloom right now”! Dinner party is fun, wraps up early enough for me to go to bed at a decent. I am a hockey play off widow now, so any witty banter/night cap before bedtime has all evaporated. I am exhausted, I retire.
Early Monday morning: I am officially dying. My throat, my Gawd my throat! I am in so much pain, how can Jo just, just, just SLEEP there while I lie here in such agony! I take a Tylenol and fitfully go back to sleep. The cruel alarm sounds and I have to get up. I have to make the girls their lunch and get them to the bus stop. Wasn’t I making my own lunch at their age (ahhh, no, in fact, Mom made it til I went off to university). Can’t they walk themselves to the bus stop? (ummm, no, who would carry their backpacks for them?) Like a fevered Sherpa, I escorted them to the bus stop and carried their scooters home. Based on my appearance, the neighbours probably thought I got my drink on early that morning and was drunkenly taking my parenting responsibilities quite seriously. I get home and pass out reading the Hunger Games.
Lunch time: I awake, almost crying, because I woke up thinking that if I was ever the Hunger Games, feeling sick like I did, I would have been killed. Katniss could kick my sick ass. Sniff. Poor me. I start watching Forgetting Sarah Marshall, heh heh. Funny. I feel a little better. Gah, I don’t feel better, at all! I am sooooo sick! I can’t move! Who will get the kids off the bus? I pick up the phone and call, the Father. Can you pleaaaaase come home? I can’t lift my finger let alone my body to collect the girls this afternoon (I rarely ask Jo to come home like that, he knows I am now officially dying). God I am so sick. I take my temperature to confirm this, in case I need medical evidence – yes, there is a fever registering. I pass out, knowing he will take care of everything.
Late afternoon: I kind of hear the girls come home – Jo must have told them how sick I was – I vaguely remember them staring at me wide eyed from the doorway – I feel sad, wondering how they will live without me because I AM DYING. Edie solemnly presents me with a Lego pyramid. We make eye contact and acknowledge this is likely the last gift she will ever give me. Grace yells at me from across the house and asks for a glass of water, then sighs “never mind, I’ll get it myself”. Touching gestures from both children.
Dinner time: I attempt to explain dinner preps to Jo, kids still need to eat all food groups and stick to their schedule, even if I’m unwell. I’m told later they had frozen pizza and ate at difference times. Sniff. The family unit is already falling apart without me.
Early evening: They brought me the crappy laptop upstairs. Just because I’m dying doesn’t mean I don’t want to get my social media on – but I can’t get internet connection on the damn laptop, so I just stare at the “sorry” page and feel sorry for myself until I pass out, again.
This morning: I awoke in the spare bedroom – two possible scenarios - I either made like a wounded animal and snuck off to die quietly or Jo was snoring and seriously compromising my “get a good night’s sleep” instructions from everyone. The fever broke though, and while I am far from feeling 100% better, I’ve made it to lunchtime without crying out of pity for myself.
But seriously, how would you survive the Hunger Games with a cold? Oh, and how do 7 year kids bounce back so quickly?
*This is dedicated to all the single parents out there because wow, I could not have gotten through yesterday without the second parent.