Family life can be Hell, particularly when there’s sickness involved. Sharing personal space can be bad enough. Sharing that space with other people’s bodily fluids is always a step too far, no matter how much you love them.
Damn and blast them for putting ‘in sickness and in health’ into the marriage vows. Couldn’t we have had just one marital loophole?
Personally I make neither a good patient nor good nurse. Thus the family have suffered on more than one level this week.
I’ve had gale-force sneezes combined with a nose seemingly congested with acid. Grandy has been coughing and coughing and coughing some more. Poor Boo seems to have picked up a water infection and had not one but two accidents at school yesterday.
And then there was Noodles. He was still asleep in bed yesterday when I left for work. But then there was a text from Eve:
Scenes from The Shining sprang to mind. Would I likely come home to corridors of blood? Wrong film, as it turned out. A phone call next: Noodles was being sick. Ah, so not so much The Shining as The Exorcist.
Still, better out than in, as the next time I check on him he’s back to his usual self, having smashed two packets of crisps on the floor. Isn’t Calpol wonderful?
Just one person has been utterly unaffected by the torrent of germs: Teflon Man. But of course!
Meanwhile I’m contemplating dipping us all in Dettol and marking our front door with a big black cross. At least that way people can’t say they weren’t warned. Although if anyone wants to volunteer to come and dish up endless rounds of chicken soup it could just be what the doctor ordered.