I am pleased to report that here in the Den of Sickquity, three of the four of us have turned the corner. However, the lone survivor is the same who requires the most work, all day and allll night as he wails about the harsh, painful injustices to this world. And he is proving true to his gender that even the littlest sniffle brings about the most pathetic whining imaginable. Good thing he’s only five months old and still gets sympathy, though the all-night shift is certainly taking its toll.
Someone made the astute comment that we are sick a lot at our house. Gee, y’think?! I once had a friend criticize me for all the activities I do with my kids and how I surely expose them to all kind of germs on a daily basis. Because sitting on our bored-to-tears rears (and believe me, you don’t want to visualize a liquidized butt) at home and keeping them healthy is surely the better option?
Guess what: there is a flaw in her argument because I’m the one who gets sick first. And then I graciously infect my young because that’s just the kind of loving mother I am. The reason for my frequent illnesses is I have what is called a low white blood cell count. For those who don’t know, white blood cells fight infection. So even though I eat right, exercise daily, and live a healthy lifestyle, the littlest trigger (like ummm say extreme fatigue) sets me off.
We’re going on two weeks with this blasted plague so I finally took them to the doctor on Monday who prescribed their infection with some antibiotics. This was a big deal for me. I have a beloved mother and sister-in-law who drag their kids to the doctor over any little sniffle but I am the complete opposite. Call it my upbringing. I was raised in an unjust world where anytime I tried to fake sick, I was dragged to the doctor. I was denied the basic right of any kid to skip school once in a while because I just didn’t want to go. Damn Canadian socialized medicine.
The latest problem is that we have infected Grandma, that same woman who generously took the sick-and-afflicted for a few hours on Saturday. The same woman who was supposed to babysit tonight while Jamie and I attend the Avalanche vs. Flames game, the same two teams that are the source of heated rivalry between us. Oh, and did I mention we have a suite?
I was starting to resign myself that we may not be able to go until the suite owner (the same guy who invited us to his million-dollar cabin) also invited us to dine with him at the private restaurant for all the big-wigs at The Pepsi Center.
That sealed the deal; Emergency Get Grandma Well Intervention was in order. We busted in on her, stuffing her full of homemade chicken soup and vitamins. The jury is still out as to whether we’ll be able to go so just let this be a lesson to you:
DON’T INFECT THE HAND THAT BABYSITS YOU.
Amen.
I'm a Canadian-born mom of two, former Denver Post columnist, family travel writer, editor of MileHighMamas.com and 9News contributor. Expert on all things Utah, Denver, family and travel. Lover of laughter and life. Happily married to a man obsessed with growing The Great Pumpkin. 