The Flu

My apologies to V, who says I always make her laugh.  She may not find this post funny at all.  I know when my kids were little, as two of hers are now, the constant onslaught of runny noses, sick tummies, and infected ears left me too tired from sleepless nights and the endless shopping for boxes of tissues to find anything funny about the usual winter maladies.  And, I'm afraid that there's one pretty typical winter malady I've never found funny at all.

When I was in the first trimester of my pregnancy with my third child I got the flu.  I was already beyond bone-tired before I got sick: in addition to dealing with morning sickness and the exhaustion of early pregnancy, I had a three year old and a just-barely two year old at home. What I most clearly remember from the days I was sick though, was lying in bed, praying to die.  Every time I heard footsteps coming up the stairs I hoped it was my husband coming to tell me he was taking me to the hospital (I was too sick to ask him to do so - and in my addled state I couldn't even figure out if this was an option).  At times, I wondered if, when he walked into the room, I wouldn't be able to respond at all and I would then find that I was indeed dead.  As happens, my body killed the flu virus and I returned to my regular life.  But, I'd learned something about myself that week: I'd always thought that should I get a horrible disease (cancer, perhaps), I'd fight tooth and nail for my life. After this I realized it was way more likely that should that happen, I'd roll over and die.  I had no fight for the flu, what energy would I have for a longer, tougher battle?

I now vigilantly get a flu shot each year.  This year, apparently, the strain of viruses in the vaccine does not match the virus being spread around.  I woke up Sunday to find that my body felt like it had been run over by a steam roller and the left side of my head pounded as if a jackhammer was trying to bore a hole through it. I didn't have the energy to even walk downstairs.  This was not good.

I had a very busy week planned.  Monday was the day our new den furniture was to be delivered and installed, Shay had a violin lesson I didn't think he should miss as he's working on a piece for NYSSMA which has been coming along slowly and painfully, Kit had a voice lesson and she'd missed the past three weeks, I had a parents' organization meeting at the middle school that I needed to attend to recruit volunteers for the book fair next month.  Tuesday is Shay's school concert and I had a doctor's appointment and lunch with a friend planned.  Wednesday is Kit's school concert.  There's precious little food in the house.  I'm still not finished resetting the basement from last week's flood and once the new furniture is installed, there are computers, books, school supplies, and a couple thousand cd's (don't ask) to be shifted.

But, there are lessons in everything and the lessons of the flu of 2008 is this: it didn't matter that I spent two days in bed, running out of light reading, not accomplishing anything.  I did manage to rally and get Shay to the violin lesson but his teacher didn't even listen to his NYSSMA piece. Hank took Kit to her voice lesson.  At some point I'll get volunteers for the book fair.  The concerts will go on and I'd been meaning to run down our stores of frozen and packaged food anyway. Hank took the kids to school, shopped for enough veggies for last night's dinner, and cooked it. The furniture will be delivered at some later date and I'll get the basement and den back in order. There's nothing like unexpectedly stepping out of your routine to realize just how unimportant most of the details of it are.

BTW, although there were moments on Sunday that I played with the idea that death might be preferable to having the flu, I was also able to remind myself (and I need to many, many times) that everything is temporary, everything passes - even the flu.  And it is passing - I'm happy to report that the steamroller that so successfully pressed my body into my mattress on Sunday is gone and the little jackhammer wielder in my head that worked in tandem with it has gone, too. They've left behind little presents in the form of a cough and a runny nose, but I may not be tough enough to not be dragged down the flu, but I am tough enough for a garden-variety cold. 

My family (and the rest of the world) survived without me - everything ran just fine for that brief moment I was put out of my daily life.  Which is good to remember.  I'm not saying I wouldn't be missed if I weren't here (I know I would be), but it helps to keep everything in perspective to know that life goes on.  No matter what.

Final words: I just realized there is one family member who doesn't think that everything went well without me.  Mobley, our goofy one-year old Chocolate Lab, has just informed that he's had way too much down-time during my illness.  They way he let me know is this: first he was shoving his bright orange squeeky football in my leg (the same toy he squeeked in my face for hours on Sunday when I was too tired to either protest or play).  I threw it a bit and then ignored him and he moved on.  Mobley is much like my kids were when they were little: if he's too quiet, I know he's doing something he'd rather I not know about.  I suddenly realized he was too quiet. Let me backtrack a bit here: a number of years ago, one of my husband's colleagues got a bull dog puppy.  The puppy ate this man's couch.  Not the whole thing, mind you, but a great big chunk of it.  This was something I could never quite get until five minutes ago, when I went looking for the too-quiet Mobley, and found him, stretched out on the good couch (the best and most expensive piece of furniture in the house), with one of the back cushions in his mouth.  He was chomping away so happily and defiantly that he didn't even stop when he saw me.  Which tells me that I'm now totally over the flu, it's time to walk the dog before I have a basement, den, and living room to resurrect.