a comedy of horrors

There has been at least one person sick, each and every week, for the past 7 weeks straight.

It began the week before Christmas. I think it was Evan.

It continued with Peyton vomitting in the middle of Christmas morning magic.

Further along came Kayla’s stomach plague, quickly followed by Ella, who was in bed for an entire 5 days.

Peyton relapsed that same week.

Mae has had 2 ear infections and strep. Separate occasions.

You get the picture.

After waiting 4 months to seek medical care for my own chronic and sometimes debilitating mysterious squirrel illness, I awoke Friday morning filled with a moderate amount of angst. Having been seen by a perplexed specialist just the day before, he had scheduled for me to have a Cat Scan on Friday, in hopes of getting to the bottom of my unexplained longterm vertigo, nausea, head pain & pressure, etc.

The before school morning rush was well under way when Peyton confessed to not feeling well, eyes glazed over, breath rapid, and skin pale.

On the way to the hospital for my CT, I texted to the pirate—who happens to work in the same hospital–to meet me in radiology with a puke pan because I had sick boy in tow, and lets face it, even if I cancel the appointment, chances are this is going to be as good a day as any. If you don’t follow my justification for that, just re-read the first line of this post.

My Ct Scan was negative, by the way. So I remain a mystery…a complicated order of sorts. I’m fine with that. It beats any number of the more ominous alternatives. Vestibular testing is next up on the menu. Any bets which sick kid I will be taking to that appointment?

Peyton perked up Saturday only to refuse dinner Saturday night, which led to what we believe was a momentary black-out (meaning he fainted, fell off the bed, and nearly gave me heart failure) Sunday morning, perpetuated by low blood sugar. Almost immediately followed by a brief but epic puke fest.

If ever there was a time I wanted to endorse adult beverage drinking first thing in the morning, it was yesterday.

Anyway, Peyton recovered well and all children were sent off to school this morning as the good Lord intended, which was excellent, considering I had another appointment scheduled for this morning. Just before that appointment, while I was in the store stocking up on all the weekly provisions fallen low from being trapped indoors with sick children, the healthroom phoned to say that Evan was sick and needed to be retrieved.

Long story, [still long, but I assure you much shorter than the real-life epic, greek tragedy--minus the greek--but still pretty tragic by some standards],short, by 6:45 this evening, the pirate was standing one step out the door with a puking, feverish, very much ill Evan, on his way up the road for a 45 minute one-way drive to the pediatricians office. Then back another 1 hour to the CVS pharmacy to drop off Evans prescription for Strep Throat, only to go back 40 minutes later to retrieve said prescription.

If I don’t laugh, I cry.
And still, even that, sometimes.

You know the one.. the whole laughcrylaughcrylaughcry, simultaneously thing. The kind that sends sheer terror through the veins of your spouse.

But it happens.

Maybe more often recently, because, SERIOUSLY?

Then there’s the pirate.

And with the pirate there is…

The improv.
The team up.
The rally.
The disclaimer.
The pep-talk.
The let.it.slide.

The coffee and donut.

Left side, his. Right side, mine.

So we work hard to find laughter in the center of the horrors. Some days it’s easier than others.

Because, come on, SEVEN (7) weeks straight, people.

Either way, on this great stage of life, there’s no one with whom I would rather write the script.

Tagged as: comedy of horrors