The Bubonic Plague

If you're wondering why I've been MIA (a whole MONTH without a post- sheesh! That's a new low for me)... it's because I practically crawled from the dark recesses of my new home, the bathroom,  to write this post. Our family has been experiencing a local outbreak of viral gastroenteritis ("the stomach bug"). This has been no ordinary stomach bug, mind you. First it hit me and I was vomiting more than I've ever in my life. My WHOLE life. If I reflect on all the times I've tossed my cookies over the years, this surpasses them all. Worse than the time my whole family survived food poisoning at Disney World. Worse than any of my migraines that landed me in the ER from dehydration after heaving from intense pain. Worse than after eating street food in Peru that my then-fiance Ben tempted me to eat (while he abstained - still bitter).

I threw up every hour for, oh, TWELVE hours. And it was no easy vomiting, let me tell you. It was full-on upheaval at its worst. It chewed me up and spat me out. I have a chain smoker's voice to prove it and can sing tenor for the first and hopefully last time of my life, which kind of freaks my husband out.

I have my toddler to thank for sharing the gift of gastritis. Anna's still battling the symptoms after five days. She's been vegging in front of the television to Cow Tunes for three days now, methodically, filling in the cracks between the couch cushions with cheerios. After realizing I have been humming/singing/rasping along to Cowabunga all day long, and can't close my eyes without picturing a cow getting a suntan in Aruba, I dare to turn off the TV and suffer the demand of "Cow, cow, cow, COW!!" coming from my firstborn. Normally I am stoic to her demands, but sometimes you just have to chalk it up as a loss and give in to the couch potato you just created in a matter of 72 hours.

Tonight she came to me begging, "Night Night, NIGHT NIGHT" at 5:30. I think that's a new record. So I changed my daughter into her pajamas, and was reminded how she has regressed from 18 month to 6 month clothing. Another pound lost, and I might be able to wrap my hand around her waist.

If we have any peaking Tom neighbors, which incidentally I've heard that we do (another story for another day), they might think they've come across a macabre set of the latest Zombie movie. In fact, I think I've just had an "ah-ha" moment. If I ever made a Zombie movie, I would select my entire cast from the waiting rooms of urgent care centers and hospital ERs.

Not only did every person in our family get the bug (including Baby, though she had it the easiest, go figure), but we wiped out our two helpers as well. Poor Jacky spent only a few hours with us and hours later she was damaged goods. My mother-in-law came to relieve her, and eight hours later she was camped out on the bathroom floor.  Meanwhile, Ben goes off for another weekend call day at the hospital (leaving You-Know-Who to juggle dirty diapers, crying kids, and frantic dashes to the toilet...I digress) and manages to give every person at the nurses' station on 7 North South a crick in their neck as they turn to the sound of Niagara Falls.

 I think this qualifies as Bubonic Plague level sickness.

In other words, forgive me for my absence from the blog world...as I make a mad dash back to my favorite haunt.