Last Monday I (somewhat jokingly, but more or less seriously) complained about Parenting While Hungover on the day after the Super Bowl. It all seems so quaint now. The passing headaches, the sensitivity to light and sound, the frustrating toddler.
Before then I wrote a post about the Jimmy Jinx, a phenomena where I can curse good parenting vibes and luck through simple acknowledgement of the same, undoing positive parenting momentum by saying things like “wow, these kids sure are sleeping well lately…” only to watch all hell break loose moments later.
Unwittingly, in writing those two posts so close to one another I managed, for lack of a better phrase (and because like all my siblings, I can have full conversations in movie quotes), to cross the streams - which, as Egon warned us, would be bad:
“…try to imagine all life as you know it stopping instantaneously and every molecule in your body exploding at the speed of light…”
Yes, Ray, total protonic reversal. Or, if you prefer its slightly less technical name: Norovirus.
First Loren caught it Tuesday evening. Thankfully, inexplicably, his was over and done pretty quickly. A handful of utterly disgusting diapers (and pajamas), an upset stomach, not much of an appetite for days, but that was it.
By Wednesday morning Master Noro had it’s sights on me. I felt fine one minute, was planning on taking the kids over to Community Forklift for some shopping, hopped in the shower, and by the time I stepped out to dry off, my fortunes had reversed. It was 10:30am. My stomach was flipping, my energy was gone, and I knew it was coming.
I locked myself, Loren and Ruthie in my bedroom, gave them some toys, laid on the bed in horror and pain, then texted Natalie to come home from work early. The beast had me in its grips. Now it was just waiting to strike the death blow. Natalie was home within the hour. Shortly thereafter, the city was headed for a disaster of biblical proportions. Dr. Peter Venkman, Ray, Egon, Winston – tell them what I’m talking about:
Real wrath of God type stuff.
Human sacrifices, dogs and cats living together, MASS HYSTERIA!
I’ve never been so sick in my life. I’ll spare you the gruesome details – and gaaaaa they were gruesome – but it went on like that almost nonstop, with brief moments of exhausted pass-out sleep interspersed between rounds, until it started for Natalie after she got the kids down for bed.
Utterly dehydrated, shivering, cold, then hot, then cold again, aching, sore, I laid on the couch under a mound of blankets and sweatshirts and wondered when it would be over, trying desperately to drink a few sips of Pedialyte, and giving serious consideration to calling an ambulance. In too much pain to sleep, I turned on the TV and watched non-sports-related network television for the first time in years. I’m pretty sure I saw Mike Tyson acting at some point. It was all so confusing.
Ruthie woke up the next morning after sleeping nine hours straight on from midnight (I love that child so much), and as I picked her up from her crib she barfed on my chest (still love her). Like Loren though, her illness would never be as bad as her parents’. Natalie and I took turns sleeping the entire next day. We were completely destroyed. Neither of us could eat, and doing much more than walking for a few seconds felt like it would start the evil process over again.
All told, we were out of commission from Wednesday morning until Friday evening, and even then I felt like I had just gotten severely beaten or hit by a truck. Natalie found her appetite Saturday night, where she was actually able to eat until she felt “full” for the first time since it hit. I found mine Sunday night.
I had never heard of Norovirus before. I will now, however, always fear its name.
I will also try to be more careful when it comes to my jinxes.
Do not cross the streams. It is bad.
