Sick of Being Sick

This year has been great for me, health-wise. I've started to get sick a few times, but have warded it off each time with some combination of Zicam, Airborne, garlic, green drinks and sleep. December hit, and I'm thinking I'm pretty much in the clear for the year. Not so.

We are supposed to be nearly half-way to my parents' home by now, about 7 hours into the 18 or so hour drive. The whole family has been bouncing-off-the-walls excited to go see Grandma and Grandpa for Christmas. Monday night I felt a little run-down. Not surprising given the way the last 6 weeks have gone around here. Tuesday I knew I was fighting off some sort of bug. I was smug. I was confident. I don't get sick.

Tuesday night I could not sleep or breathe. Wednesday I pretty much thought this was the end. I'm a fairly tough girl I think, it takes a lot to knock me out. Yesterday I sounded like a man, and couldn't cross the room without flying into some wild horrific coughing fit that left me gasping for air. I went to the Doctor. He listened to me breathe. He heard me cough. He said "Wow. You are SICK.". Before I knew it I had nebulizer attached to me, and various prescriptions were being written out. Suddenly I was watching our travel plans get sucked into a black hole.

So far Gabriel and Marley seem to be alright. Noah and Duncan are coughing. I am bummed. Anything we do now will mess up something else. If we go tomorrow, there's no way we'll make church on Sunday. If we wait longer than that, we're getting into territory where the length of the stay might not be long enough to justify what is sure to be a very long and trying drive. The house is a mess. I hate leaving a messy house. Now I've got to food shop since I had perfectly metered out what we'd use before we left, and now we haven't left.

The oddest thing came to mind today. When I was a kid, I used to get sick a lot. I got it first, I got it the worst. The joke in our family was that we'd get to see the hospital anywhere we travelled thanks to me. My Grandma at one point gave me this great little book called The Sick of Being Sick Book. It had all kinds of ideas of things to do when you were sick and stuck at home and/or in bed. Some were serious, like making sure you were resting and drinking enough. Then there were some like: Collect all your dirty kleenexes. Wad them up. Paint them orange. Put them in a clear bowl. Pretend you have fish.

I read that book probably a hundred times. It made me laugh and gave me something to focus on besides how rotten I felt. At some point, I must have gotten rid of it. I tried a few times to see if I could find another copy, but didn't have any luck. Today I don't want to pack. I don't want to use my stinking inhaler. I just want my book.

And my Mom.