One thing I really do not like in life is getting sick.
I do not like to feel ill, I do not like to take medicine, and I really do not like feeling so sick that I can’t brush my teeth.
I’m one of those people who will retreat to my bed when I’m sick because I don’t want to see anyone and I don’t want anyone to see me.
Me being sick is not something anyone wants to witness.
It all started when I got up in the middle of the night because I felt the need to use the restroom.
I managed to get my pajama pants around my ankles before my cheek hit the floor.
Not my bum cheek, but my sweet little face cheek.
I was just about to sit on the commode when the room went swirly and white and I heard myself call out weakly for Hubs.
I managed to slide down to the floor and passed out.
I felt like I had been asleep for hours when I heard him frantically trying to waken me.
The poor Kid. He had heard me call out, too.
He was standing ringside and was frozen with fear on seeing me half dressed on the bathroom floor, not responding the way he was hoping I would.
It took a few minutes, but I finally got up, with Hubs lifting me up like a half ton sack of potatoes.
The Kid had already been suffering from strep throat and was in the first stages of the flu, and I was quickly catching up with him.
I got back to bed and shivered a bit, praying for relief.
It was two days before I got out of bed for more than 10 minutes.
Being a sick mom is the hardest job in the world.
The thought of having to fix food for your sick child and yourself is almost beyond comprehension.
Hubs coming home and hoping for a hot meal was certainly out of the question.
He was good enough to go out and forage for food.
How did the caveman survive without pizza or ramen?
I know ... gross.
Pizza and the flu? I’m getting queasy just thinking about it.
The Kid and I took turns waiting on each other. Nice that he had the advantage of youth on his side. He was able to bounce back much faster than his old Mother Hubbard.
All told, we spent about six days in and out of our sickbeds, with the laundry piling up.
Hubs will go fetch a bag o’ burgers, but heaven forbid he take the laundry downstairs to the laundry room. He may actually have to say ‘hello’ to a neighbor, which he totally abhors doing.
By day 5, The Kid was feeling much better, actually jumping around and banging fists on my bed because I didn’t feel well enough to take him to the movies.
You know, “How dare you be sick when I have things I want to do!”
Such is the burden we sick moms have to bear.
I had to put a quick stop to the shaking of the bed before I hurled on his clean pajamas.
“Do you think you could stop long enough to get me a fresh glass of water?” I asked him, trying to detract him from his little hissyfit.
“Oh ... sure. Do you need a wet rag for your forehead?” He reached across to feel my forehead. Not hot enough to warrant a dripping wet rag.
Then he took my hand and I thought for a minute he was going to check my pulse.
He drew my hand close and kissed it.
“You just rest, mom. I’ll get you some water.”
Too much attention.
There must be a new video game coming out soon.
“Doctor Bombay, do you think you could get me a Tylenol too?”
He nodded and off he went, returning with a glass of cold water and an extra-strength Tylenol.
“You have a great beside manner, Doctor Bombay.”
He smiled and said, “Who is Doctor Bombay?”
“On ‘Bewitched.’ He was the doctor the witches called on, often turning his patients into animals or into different colors.
Sometimes he made them invisible. He was pretty funny.”
“Well, if it makes any difference, you can just call me ‘Doctor Love’ ... ’cause I know how to treat my women.”
What kind of stuff was he watching on television that I didn’t know about?
Well, now I know how to make money during my “retirement” years.
When The Kid is old enough, I’ll start up a business for him and call it “Chippendale’s Home Therapy.”
He’ll cook up ramen and fluff pillows.
If I can get him to do laundry, we’ll make a fortune.