It all started back on December 28. Ryan, Olive and I left my parents' house around 8 p.m. The plan was for Olive and I to return sometime the following day so my mom could babysit her while I worked. It sounded like such a good plan.
Early on December 29, I received a call from my brother that went something like this: "Um, Cal? I'm sick." "What kind of sick are you, Griff?" "I've been *gag* throwing up all night." Ew. "Mom's sick, too. She hasn't thrown up yet, but she feels awful."
Of course, being the caring, sympathetic person that I am, my first thought was, "Are we going to catch this?" I scolded myself for being so selfish, said a prayer for their health, pleaded with the Lord that we wouldn't get it, and then set to googling incubation time for flu bugs. According to the internet, we were looking at 18 to 72 hours. Of course, having a 16 month old around at Christmas time means lots of hugs and kisses. Apparently kissing is a really good way to spread germs -- especially explosive, nasty germs. I could think of about 15 times Livi had gone around the room in circles giving every family member a kiss. She's practically a cotton swab of germy saliva. Ick! So, the waiting began.
Mom and Griff were really sick. All the gore of the flu, and the extra long recovery time because of everything it "takes out of you." (Ewww.)
But, 72 hours came and went, and no one else seemed to catch it.
Cue Monday morning, a week later. The first Monday of the new year. I wake up to Olive puking. She continued all day long -- I lost count at 10 times. She didn't feel great, but still seemed to have some energy when she wasn't getting sick, which made it even tougher to take care of her. I thought the silver lining of sick children was that they slept all day and wanted to cuddle? She did wants lots of kisses from Mommy, and because she was sick, I couldn't deny her. I figured getting sick was inevitable anyway, and smooched away with her. (I'd welcome a little weight loss anyway. Ha!)
On Monday night, Ryan announced he wasn't "feeling too great" and was going to sleep on the couch downstairs. Apparently the flu hit him at about 11 p.m. and he too was physically wiped out for the rest of the week.
So, if you're keeping count -- four out of eight have been sick at this point. My dad, sister and I were still holding out.
Cue this past Monday. Mom calls and tells me Dad has the flu. Same story, just different character. Because Monday was Griff's last day before flying home to Oregon, we went over that evening to spend time with them.
On Tuesday morning at about 3 a.m., I received a call from my Mom. "Candra is sick now. Can you go with us to take Griff to the airport?" I certainly and without any angst at all obliged. :) (Read: sarcasm.) But honestly, I didn't mind going. It was good to have one more chance to see Griff, even if it was at 3 a.m.
So, now. Present day. I'm still convinced I'm going to get sick, but it hasn't happened yet. I'm the only one left standing. I'm not sure how long it will last, but if I do end up escaping this thing, I'm going to claim the effects of prayer and copious amounts of Diet Coke.
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