If you were to count all of the days of your life that you had spent sick in bed, how much would it add up to? I reckon at least a year. The Beard read an article claiming three. Either way it is a depressing thought. Not counting years spent in bed dying of things like cancer. Just counting the common colds. If you could get it all out of the way in one year, would you? I like to get unpleasant things out of the way all at once, but a year of the common cold, of stuffy noses and sneezes and coughs and restless nights might be more than I can take. There are only so many tissues in the world.
Every single time I get sick I lament the way I never remember to fully appreciate the times when I am healthy. “The next time you hear me complaining about something,” I told the Beard a few nights ago, “please just remind me that at least I can breath through my nose.” So, despite the fact that I am still not feeling like I’m made of animated tissue, today I am at least happy to have the use of my nostrils.
Baby Pickles caught my cold after three days, which has certainly played a part in the creation of my undead flesh. She is usually such a peaceful baby, such a “good sleeper” as the kids’ parents say. Now we know what it would be like if she was not. Now we know what it would be like if she woke up once an hour screaming and had to be walked around the room to get back to sleep. Now we know how a whole lot of other parents feel for the first six plus months of their children’s lives. Sometimes I wonder how it is possible that we humans came to have a population problem.
After three days of sniffling and very mild fever, we were expecting her to get better. Instead her fever shot up through the roof on day four, chasing us off to the pediatrics emergency room at the hospital. It didn’t feel like an emergency room emergency (which I usually imagine involving lost limbs and heart attacks and, you know, serious splatter shit), but after 1 pm on a Friday, there is no one else to call until Monday morning. After a surprisingly pleasant visit (we only waited ten minutes!) we were told that, besides having a mean cold, there was nothing wrong with Pickles (whew), and that we just needed to keep giving her lots of fluids and waiting it out.
So we are, and it seems to be working, but the mornings are getting harder and harder, and if this lasts for much longer, Pickles is going to have to start changing her diapers and lighting the wood stove herself, while the Beard and I lay prostrate in bed, babbling and drooling and munching on brains.