It all started with a tight squeeze. Doesn't it always? Thursday night, The Viking scooped Man-Cub up off the floor in a tight squeeze and stopped short to observe, "I think he's got a fever."
I ran over to put my face on his face (the only way I check for fevers, is that a Mom thing?) and sure enough, he was hot! The thermometer revealed he was 102 degrees hot! He piped up that he'd also been having a bit of a sore throat and had been coughing in school that day. So, we dosed him up on Junior Motrin and sent his fevered little head to bed.
I checked him all through the night, waking him to re-dose, and that fever stayed right about where it was: 101-102. By morning, it was 103 so I called him out of school. And suddenly noticed my throat was rather sore. Say it with me...uh oh.
At around noon that day, Man-Cub and I were at the store, stocking up on all kinds of necessary sick-day items (you know, Popsicles, microwavable soft pretzels, Wii games) when suddenly, I felt illness descend on me as sure and swift as a plague of boils. My head began to swim, my chest tightened up and I could hardly catch my breath from coughing! It was weird! I can actually pinpoint the exact time I got sick!
Three hours later, I was sacked-out on the couch with Man-Cub with a 100 degree temperature, raw sore throat, and what I was sure was a consumptive cough. By 4:30 when Redheaded Snippet arrived home from play practice (mercifully given a ride by a friend), I looked (and felt) like the walking dead.
The night that followed was terrible. My temperature wouldn't go down, I ached all over, my throat and chest felt like they were on fire, I couldn't take a deep breath and I kept getting chills so bad my whole body would shake and my teeth would chatter like a pair of castanets. My poor Viking put me into bed with the heating pad, piling me high with blankets and rubbing my aching arms and legs so I could fall asleep. And, of course, every few minutes, I would be drenched in sweat and throwing all the carefully arranged blankets off of me until my teeth started chattering again and the poor man had to repeat the whole process all over again.
Saturday was much the same. Fever, chills, sweat, chills, coughing, fatigue, aching, MISERY. The one ray of light in all of Saturday was that Man-Cub was feeling much better. Thankfully, he managed to dodge the full wrath of the illness. I cannot imagine how miserable the entire household would have been if he had felt like I did.
Then, Sunday. I didn't think I could feel worse, but, oh, I did. For, instead of getting better, the symptoms just multiplied. They began spreading up into my head. My sinuses swelled up and shut and my nose started pouring with wild abandon. I don't know about you, but of all the cold and flu symptoms, sinus woes are the worst to me. I hate that feeling of having just gotten water up my nose, of feeling like I need to sneeze very badly and not being able to, of not being able to breathe through my nose. It makes me miserable more than almost anything else. And there I was, feverish, achy, chilled, sweat-soaked, coughing like an 85-year-old barfly, unable to talk or swallow without pain and snot-nosed.
The Viking was so chivalrous. He made up our menu for the week, then did the shopping. He brought me Popsicles and tapioca pudding. He brought the laundry down and washed and dried several loads. And he kept the kitchen clean and the children in line. But then, you guessed it, he started making suspicious coughing noises just after dinner time last night. Oh no. Not him, too!
Oh, yes. We spent the night trading the heating pad back and forth. A few times, we turned back to back, pressing it between us. And neither of us got much sleep because we kept waking each other up coughing, blowing our noses, moaning softly, repositioning our aching bodies. Once, I'm pretty sure I accidentally elbowed him in the head. And I know we both coughed right in each other's faces a few times. Ah, the romance of sharing everything with your beloved. Well, we did say in sickness and in health, did we not?
I finally came downstairs this morning because I couldn't handle falling tossing and turning anymore. And my throat hurt so bad I wanted a creamsicle. The Viking is still up there, hopefully getting some good rest now that he has the bed to himself. I just don't know what we're going to do. Redheaded Snippet can't take care of both of us and the house.
And, it's worse: Man-Cub's birthday is tomorrow. I'm supposed to make him cupcakes to take to school and The Viking had said he would take care of it. And now neither of us can. We weren't going to have his birthday party until the weekend, thankfully, but he was supposed to get whatever he wanted for dinner tomorrow night and now he may just have his parents lying around drooling on the couch, unable to cook for him. Maybe it's time for Grandma to swoop in to the rescue, although I don't want her to get it...maybe if we spray the kids and all other surfaces all over with Lysol, she'll be okay. I think I'm calling her...
And now, I'm exhausted and must go lie down again. Woe is me, woe is me!
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