For the first time in my life, I got the flu. Yes, you read that right, I have never had the flu, ever. Always big snotty colds, but nothing else.
Now I’ve made up for lost time. Fever of 102 for 3 days, 100 for a few more. Chills, aches, and now that oh-so-special dry hacking cough. And major fatigue on top of sleeplessness.
Now, I know I should be grateful. Wise anthroposophical heads have
decreed (just kidding, it’s all about the freedom) realized that fevers are our friends, bringing profound transformations to body and soul. Particularly for small children, they are key to healthy development and allow the child to “burn out” their inherited physical bodies in order to create new ones for themselves.
As I lay in bed for days, sweating and staring out into space when I wasn’t dozing, while Papa took badly-timed time off work to take the kids out of the house so I’d have quiet, I thought about being grateful, but I was too miserable.
I’ve never had a real fever before. I’d seen them both in Papa and the kids, and knew what to do. When I felt cold and shivery despite a wool hat and sweater, I pulled that blanket right over me. When I wasn’t hungry for 4 days, I ate a little applesauce to keep me going, otherwise nothing. Drink lots of water, sleep as much as possible.
I think that if I could be, I’d still be in bed. But, with toddlers, that’s not going to happen.
Plus, now Papa’s sick.