Flupocalypse

I've been sick this year. Really, just, a lot of sick. Starting in November and seemingly with very few breaks before the next thing slams into me. The kids have had colds and stomach bugs and ailments and I think I've caught EVERY SINGLE ONE from them. And whatever they don't get, I seem to bring home from all the other little germ infested goblins I teach. It has been, legitimately, disgusting.

A few weeks ago I was struck with what can truly only be described as Montezuma's Revenge. Except that, well, I wasn't traveling. It was someone's revenge though. I lost four pounds simply by being glued to the toilet seat.

In The 25th Annual Putnam County Spelling Bee, which I had the privilege of seeing on my first trip to NYC, there's a line that goes like this:

"Dengue--an infectious disease transmitted by mosquitoes and categorized by headache, joint-pain, skin rash, and severe diarrhea. When the Pediatrician asked Billy to describe the symptoms of his Dengue, he said, 'It was like there was a race out of my tushie, and everybody won.'"

That line has stayed with me. Because it is hilarious. Because who among us hasn't experienced the horrific nightmare of catastrophic diarrhea? 

I'm not going to focus on diarrhea though because I've been binge watching Downton Abbey and pretending I'm a lady. (When, really, I am about the farthest thing from English nobility.) I do know enough to know that ladies shouldn't share a lot of details about their bathroom escapades. But, you see, after I recovered from The Revenge, I had some good days and then I was struck with the other kind of flu. The Influenza A kind of flu. This ticked me off something fierce because we always get the flu shot. Yes, I know it was all but completely ineffective this year but that is not the point. I felt a bit under the weather when I left work on Thursday and by the evening I was running a fever. 

I stayed in bed almost all of Friday, Saturday, Sunday and Monday. I cannot tell you the last time I wallowed in bed for four straight days. This is why I have taken up Downton Abbey which I had saved for such a time as this. Oh I knew I would love it. I had so many friends who watched it AT THE TIME and loved it and wondered why, on God's wonderful earth, I was not among the obsessed. I always knew it would be a show for me. I somehow also knew I would pull it out at just the right and perfect moment.

The Great Flupocalypse of 2018 was just that time.

But the point of this post is not to discuss the Crawley's and their drama. It's not really to talk about that scene with Mary and Anna and Cora and a CERTAIN body. Even if I would honest to goodness hope to respond exactly like that mother did. To my children: I will not condone your bad decision making and I may make you pay but I will straight up help you move the body back to its own bedroom. JUST LIKE THE COUNTESS OF GRANTHAM. Anyway. The actual point is that my husband is an absolute blessing to me.

Sometimes we're married for fourteen years and the fire doesn't die or anything like that but the lingerie gets buried behind the flannel pajama pants and everything is just comfortable and nice. Let's face it, the lingerie, in and of itself, is not actually integral to the marriage. I happen to like the fact that he fits like a glove or, like a good pair of pajama pants. But sometimes, I'm shaking in bed with a fever and I can't stop. And then for some inexplicable reason I start bawling because I'm just so cold and I hear him beyond the closed door. He's taking care of three kids and doing laundry and making dinner and thinking about his sermon and changing a poopy diaper. I'm coughing. It's a deep, racking cough and he's there handing me medicine and putting a palm on my forehead. And when the flu goes up into my face and my sinuses are a brick wall, he's helping me use the terrible sinus pot because I really need it but I hate it so much it makes me choke and cry. 

I've been sick a great deal this year. I'm trying everything I can think of to build up my immunity and keep things away and yet, they have a way of clinging to my body and wiping me out. Through it all, my husband just keeps standing in the gap. And yes, it's what a husband SHOULD do. I couldn't agree more. But when I stop and really see that he is doing it, he is taking care of absolutely everything for FOUR ENTIRE DAYS, how can I be anything short of madly in love with this counterpart of mine?

This morning, I insisted on going to work. He texted me early in the day, "Hope your day is manageable. If it's too hard, don't be afraid to call it halfway through. Praying for you. Love you."

When you find someone who is praying for you and who loves you, don't let that one go. I just wanted to write something down so that my husband knew it didn't go unnoticed. All the praying. All the loving. All the doing everything. I see. Thank you.