I Don't Do Sick Well

I imposed a quarantine here this weekend after going to the doctor on Friday for myself, then heading straight for the pharmacy for some horse-sized antibiotics.

Knute (he stayed home on day three of my endless fever) and the three kids walked in the door just before I did around lunchtime. Becky, who had attempted going back to school on Friday, called after morning recess to ask if she could come home since she still felt sick.

And peeps? If your kid willingly gives up recess because they feel sick, they ain't faking it.

With Becky close to better, me wheezing like a train going uphill, and Huck pinking up with fever-cheeks, Knute and I decided to keep the whole gang indoors for the weekend and get.better.already.

Oh, and lest you think little Tom skated free from this viral crud that's been haunting us for a week, he didn't. His nose is redder than Rudolph's from three days straight of one of us wiping the nasty oozies every ten minutes or so.

I am not a good patient. I actually feel sorry for some of the doctors who've treated me over the years.

I needle them with questions (because two years of pre-med plus endless Googling makes me a pseudo-expert).

I don't always follow their orders (because I happen to live in this body 24/7 and I know pretty well when it's firing on all pistons and when it needs to be parked in the shed).

Oh, and for the few times in my life I've been in the hospital, I must tell you that I am that patient. The One Who Does Not Think She Needs to Be There.*

I am also not the most rational person when I am sick. Add to that the sleep deprivation of taking care of sick weefolk as well and I am two shakes from Chicken Little. It seldom occurs to me - in the throes of coughing or puking or caretaking - that it's entirely possible (not just possible, but with three kids, probable) for me to just get sick.

Nope, random does not sit well with my perseverating-while-sick brain. I go round and round in my head, trying to figure out when or where we were exposed, who the vector might have been (I really like science; indulge my nerdiness for a sec, m'kay?), and if I've exposed anyone else. I search for answers when in reality, I should probably just take a nap on the couch.

It's only a day or two past the peak of the crud that I realize I was maybe overreacting a smidge.

Thank goodness Knute thinks I'm funny when I'm wound up.

And thank goodness for ibuprofen, antibiotics, Purell, and an endless stream of Phineas & Ferb** on Disney.

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*Except when giving birth, but that's because they don't sell elephant needles and epidural kits online. I know some of you like the home birth with no meds plan, but after having Huck in a hurry I am firmly in the painfree birth camp.