For four years, my house was a healthy place.
There was only an occasional allergy flare if I accidentally dusted or went outside when something was blooming.
Having a cold, flu, virus, or stomach bug was something we had gratefully avoided for a while.
At least, that is, until my child started school again.
The first week or so, he came down with something.
“He’s rebuilding his immune system,” I thought.
I didn’t know he was rebuilding mine as well.
A few days later, I came down with whatever crud he had.
Two weeks passed, and we were back at the doctor, getting swabbed for strep.
Of course, it came back positive and a round of antibiotics was prescribed, along with something for nausea because this strain also made one sick.
“It’s going around,” the doctor said. “This is the fifth case I have had this morning.”
“He hasn’t been sick in years,” I said. “He’s gone back to school and this is the second time I have been in here with him. The first month of school is not even over yet.”
The doctor just nodded and handed me the scripts.
By some small miracle, I didn’t get strep, but I have caught everything he else he has brought home.
And he has been sick just about every other week with some form of creepy crud.
The usual remedies that have been my tried and true methods have not even made a dent in these maladies.
Oscillococcinum, elderberry syrup, hot tea with lemon and honey – none of them yielded their usual results.
“We are going to need Granny’s home remedy,” I told Mama one day.
“Vicks all over the body?” she replied.
As sick I have been the last few months, it seemed like a sensible cure.
At least it would knock me out for a few days.
Just when we would get through one round of illness, another one struck.
It has been a never-ending cycle of crud.
“I feel sick,” Cole said one evening.
“Don’t even start with that,” I said.
“I do though,” he protested.
I knew he did. I just wasn’t ready for yet another round of whatever throat, upper respiratory, stomach demon he was going to be fighting this time.
He somehow shook that one off, only to have it rebound the last week of school before Christmas break, right as he was taking finals.
“If I hadn’t missed any days of school, I wouldn’t have to take my finals,” he said, his head leaning against the window as I drove him to school.
“Well, you’ve been so sick, you haven’t had any choice but miss,” I said.
“Yeah,” he said. “You know who got to exempt? The kids that have come to school all sick and spreading their germs. That’s who. Because of them, I am sick and having to take these finals.”
I felt his pain. I have always been of the “if you’re sick, you stay home” camp and thought the whole perfect attendance thing was over-rated.
When I picked him up later that morning, he was looking forward to a few weeks to rest and recoup. And Taco Bell, his own cure-all method.
I thought surely a few weeks of rest and in his own familiar environment of germs would help he recover, and we could enjoy the holidays well and happy.
But the next morning, I woke with a tickle in the back of my throat.
“Oh, no. No, no,” I thought.
For the next 10 days, I was sick with whatever pestilence and plague my child had been fighting.
We sounded like a bunch of seals coughing 24 hours a day. There were days where all I did as sleep off and on as I watched Hallmark movies. I am not quite sure if I even showered as days ran together, only separated by the countdown to Christmas on the tv screen.
I went through tons and tons of stuff – cough drops, soup, tea, you name it – before finding solace in the old standby of Nyquil.
“It’s an OTC moonshine,” Mama declared as she sang its praises. “And it will help you rest, which will help you get well.”
I didn’t like taking it, but I didn’t like being sick either.
After what felt like an eternity, just a few days before the beginning of the year, we were back to our old cough-and-mucous free, feverless selves.
Then, Cole had to go back to school.
The first week was fine.
Maybe he has finally built his immune system back up, I thought. Maybe mine was as well.
Then, the second or third week, I had some tummy bug.
I went back home after taking Cole to school.
He was calling by 9:30. “Mom, I think I have what you have,” he said, sounding weak.
Just this week, he has missed yet another day.
It has been a vicious, awful cycle.
I am to the point I do not want to leave the house until all the bugs, viruses, flu strains, and everything else are over.
“Is mono contagious?” he asked the other day.
“This kid at school has it.”
“They were at school?” I asked. He nodded. “Where do they sit?”
“Right behind me.”
Of course they do.
The season of sick was evidently a long way from being over.