Saturday, February 16, 2013

Eye Of The Storm

I can't wait for the day my son learns to actually hack-up lung-butter and gob it into the sink.

Friday morning my wife grinned at me with a powerful smugness. The day before she had come home expectantly in the early afternoon and collapsed in bed. She then remained catatonic until around 7pm. The next hour she was groggy and pathetic. By 8pm she was quite pleased with herself for Germanically and efficiently squeezing the bulk of her flu symptoms into a tidy 5 hour period. She went to bed clearly pleased with herself to read for a bit. I sat downstairs for another two hours wondering how I could have avoided this whole evil thing. I weighed up all the possibilities and options. Everything from the idea that this is purely an American disease or that maybe I'd actually been inoculated when I had all those weirdo jabs when I emigrated here. In the end I toyed with the notion of Occam's Razor and decided that the most likely option is likely true - I'm just way more awesome than all of them.

I hadn't even locked all the doors before whatever this illness is gripped me and had me lying on a random spot of the living room floor just to take a minute before just simply going to bed. Twenty minutes later I'd made it up into bed. I genuinely felt as if I was trapped under something very heavy. Everything in my body hurt. But certain parts of it - my hands, ankles and "man-ions" in particular ached like a bastard. An hour later I was shivering uncontrollably with a fever. Shortly after that my body began cramping with dehydration. Three years ago I got sick (very long story, too many details) I actually had an ambulance and the police called to my home because I was that dehydrated that the pain from cramping had left me unable to move. I was worried about feeling anything like that again. I couldn't open my eyes because they hurt too much. In the end my wife went to sleep in another bed and I pretty much passed out until morning.

When I got up I felt like I'd run a marathon the day before and then been beaten with a pipe. My brain hurt just like it did one April morning in university when I realized that it had just been the first week of October and I hadn't really been properly conscious since then. I eventually crawled out of bed to find my wife and tell her that someone needed to get our daughter ready for school. Thirty minutes later I was still not doing well. I'd checked the news already and noted that a meteorite had crashed in the Urals. Obviously I couldn't help but think of the parallel with Superman and kryptonite. Surely that would explain it. My son was up and chipper. My daughter was bouncing around excited for the school day. My wife was giving me that massively smug grin. She was literally bouncing around with how happy she felt at twatting aside something as feeble as that illness. She went to work. My daughter went to school. My son watched me lie on the couch with no music on, no lights on and my hood up. I looked like a dying vampire in an outdoorsman vest.

Fast forward to this morning where my son was puking down the stairs. Then in the kitchen. Then in the bathroom. Not a stomach bug or anything like that. Just all that swallowed, manky post-nasal gunk mixed with the agony of the sort throat everyone else had. He had an utter bitch of a fever. He didn't have a stomach bug or anything. He just hasn't learned how to cough-up the chunks of phlegm yet - so like a lot of little kids the body gives him a helping squeeze and pukes it all out for him. 90 minutes later he was grinning and rolling around all pleased with himself.

And lastly fast forward to around 2.45pm this afternoon. My wife and son were back in bed sweating - both feverish and unable to communicate. My daughter was fine having had at least 3 days since she had first started to recover. Notably she had seemed fine for at least 3/4 of a day before relapsing into a bloody awful almost-comatose state. Me? I'd been out for a 6 mile run in the ice (bloody slippery, by the way), been to the pharmacy to get some Vick's Vaporub and one of those nasty things you stuff right into your nostril to huff on and clear it out (confession: I really mean Cadbury's Mini Eggs) and to the store to get more juice, sorbet and nice things for the others dying at home. Right now I feel pretty good.

Now it's 5pm and my wife has given up after trying to get up 40 minutes ago. She's been non-verbal since I got back from my run. My son frankly looks like he's in the middle of a very potent peyote binge. Snot hosing out of his nose, cheeks red and a permanent sweaty gloss about him. He's feeble and at the point of weeping - but he doesn't want to go back up to bed. My daughter just fell asleep on the couch but woke up with a cough that sounds like a pleased seal. I feel bloody marvelous. This may be the eye of the storm. But frankly I don't think so.

I think Putin and Co. have just cleaned up the kryptonite.

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