When the wife is out of commission…

It’s bound to happen: middle school students are walking petri dishes and they carry all sorts of grossness with them; from sneezing to high fives, passing in papers to wiping their nose, the rate of germ transfer in a classroom is fast enough to make the autobahn hang its head in shame. Not that everyone else doesn’t play pass the buck as well, but put 150 middle schoolers up against 1 teacher, and the ratio is in favor of the teacher catching something. Guilty as charged, I am down for the count starting Friday night.

Stubborn as I am, I refused to be put-off my first weekend–I WILL endure and enjoy all these plans I have for the weekend. Well…almost. Friday night we met up with some friends at Harry’s Bar and Grille for some scrumptious eats, and then headed to Wally’s Pool Hall for an embarrassingly good time making fools of ourselves. (we’re probably 4 of the saddest pool players in town, but we had fun despite the scratches and ball-jumps!) As soon as I got home, I set my alarm for 9:00 am and crashed into bed–I had a very important day planned on Saturday that included Bed Bath and Beyond and a trip to IKEA (my first ever). The alarm sounds at 9:00, I fall to the floor and crawl to the alarm. Slowly, I pull myself up and hobble (literally) to the kitchen for juice and daytime medicine. 9:15, I’m still standing in the kitchen trying to make the room stop spinning. 9:20, I’m checking the weather, updating Facebook, and reading the news. 9:30, I’m laying in bed waiting for the headache to go away. Finally, I admit semi-defeat and text Kit-Kat asking if we can postpone BB&Beyond and try IKEA around noon if my condition has improved. All the while, Mike is nervously following me around wondering if I’m going to keel over or throw-up. “Why don’t you take a bath?” he asks. Good idea. Thirty minute soak and I’m sweating like crazy. “This is gross, I’m getting out.” He finds me some loose-fitting clothes and tells me to take a nap; he’ll wake me up in time to get ready to go. “I’m not tired….” Next thing I know, it’s several hours later. How in the world did I fall asleep after taking daytime medicine….? Said medicine has made a strange fog settle over my brain for the rest of my day; it goes something like this:

Mike keeps dangling the words “chicken soup” in my face…several inches away, of course…and at last, I can’t resist. I try to tell him I don’t know where the recipe is, and he sheepishly looks at me: “I was going to go to Crisper’s; their soup will be much better than anything I can make.” Ok, you may have a point. Asleep again. Door slams. Soups on! Nom nom nom. Woah…it’s 2:00…. I can hear the sounds of Modern Warfare dancing around with all my other dreams; Mike must be playing video games to pass the time. “Let’s watch Firefly” “Okay…what’s it about?” “You’ll see; here, move the pillow so you can sit up a bit. Drink your Sierra Mist.” 10 episodes later, it’s time for dinner. I need to use the restroom, but it takes me a total of 10 minutes to get there, go, and get back to the couch. I can’t feel my feet on the floor. Asleep again: banging and water running, Murphy’s collar jingling, cat walking on me, I’m sweating again. Scrambled eggs and ham. “Mike, did you text Kit-Kat for me? What time is it? Wow…it’s dark out.” More Firefly. “Are you tired?” “I don’t think so, but maybe?” I’m turning off lights, giving Murphy her dinner, and crawling into bed. It’s 7:10am and my alarm is ringing. It’s 9:45am and I’m hungry. Life is somewhat normal again.

My nurse never left my side, but the whole thing seems pretty surreal. He made sure I had a blanket, that I got the rest my body felt it needed, and that hydration was readily available. He also made sure everyone who was counting on me was up to speed with my ‘out-of-commissionism.” I feel bad leaving him to fend for himself all day, but everything is still intact, everyone is still alive, and I don’t think anyone is upset with us. I felt better today, but I still can’t breathe correctly and my appetite is dodgy. While my stomach tells me it could use food, my taste buds reject everything that even thinks of approaching them. Fall back into the routine: laundry at Dad’s on Sunday, grading in the afternoon, let Murphy run, watch it rain, come home for dinner, put the clothes away while Mike does the dishes. I have done my seating chart, checked my work email, and updated my blog. At 10:00 on a Sunday night, I’m heading to bed. While I’m functioning, it’s like only 4 of 6 pistons are firing–everything moves a little slower, my thoughts are a little fuzzy, and my emotions are running high. In short: colds suck, but a good husband can make even the weirdest “down day” an adventure.