Last One Standing

Brian fell yesterday. He slept a good part of the day which was unusual. I finally woke him up so that he would be able to sleep at night. Just when it was time for me to go to bed he was in the bathroom crying over stomach cramps and diarrhea. I did what little I could, while maintaining a 4 foot distance from him.

I tried saying sympathetic, motherly things like, "Brian, sweetie, I know you feel really really bad, but there isn't anything I can do about it, so will you please stop making so much noise so that I can sleep?" As I have previously mentioned, my sleep is really important to me.

Hubby, being the generous human being that he is, got out of bed and said that he was beginning to have stomach cramps too, so he would try to take care of Brian and I could attempt to save myself. I did. I slept in Brian's old bedroom. When I left this morning Hubby was offering sacrifice to the porcelain deity. He asked me to take in a packet for his substitute. I carefully picked it up by a corner he promised he had not touched.

I called mid day to learn that Andrew had not made it to school either.

None of them can keep anything down. Hubby is moving around some, but the boys look like they haven't the strength to move. When they are conscious they seem to be able to do little other than groan in misery.

I got some turkey broth out of the freezer (from the Thanksgiving turkey no less) and cooked it up for them. Hubby said he would see if he could keep it down, but they boys did not stir. Having done the good mommy thing (I made soup!), I am now hiding in our bedroom, having kicked Hubby out. This may be a bad idea has Hubby spent most of the day in the bed, and I just read that some viruses can live on surfaces for up to 48 hours. Brian's old bedroom is more likely to be virus-free, but somehow I cannot quite convince myself to spend my evening surrounded by piles of discarded toys.

But I am trying not to touch anything that Hubby might have touched. I am opening and shutting doors with my elbows. I am sitting in a chair that was buried under a blanket and my computer came with me from work. I have washed my hands so many times this evening you would think I was suffering from OCD.

Actually I think I should check that the boys are not getting dehydrated. I think I will shout instructions to Hubby on how to do that.

It's probably too late. The virus is probably even now replicating in my body preparing to lay me out in the next couple of days. But there is a chance, a slight chance, that I might not have it yet.

At least I can know that, given my generous and self-sacrificing behavior of the past 24 hours, that I can count on my family to care for me. They will, I am sure, make sure that there is plenty of toilet paper in the house before they leave me alone while they go out for pizza.