It’s June 3rd. The week is over. It started as a challenge for me as this was to be the first week my four and a half year old daughter would be home from school, with me, while I was working. I started a nine hour a day job back in March with the perk of working from home. Awesome…most of the time.
So, we set the stage for my recently retired mom to come for a four day visit with the intent of Mom leaving Saturday morning before Red went to stay with her dad for an overnight. It was the perfect set up that would have allowed me an entire 18 hours to do some things for me, not the least of which being a pedicure, a chick flick, and a glass of wine. But, the best laid plans, at least, that’s what they say, right?
Mom woke up at her usual time on Saturday morning, feeling good and talking about heading home. Thirty minutes later, she was poised over my toilet eliminating the last of the previous night’s meal. Gruesome. She thought it was acid indigestion that would quickly dissipate then she would head home. Wrong. She caught Red’s stomach virus from the week before, and now, Sunday morning, is still here, and still sick. Poor thing.
I feel helpless and horrible. I know how bad it stinks to be caught with a bug far away from home. It’s no fun puking in someone else’s toilet, scrounging is someone else freezer for anything cold, or poking through unfamiliar cabinets for saltines and bananas when that would be the very last thing there. She’s managed well and though it’s not been easy, we’re almost at the end…I hope.
So, during this last couple of days, I’ve discovered a lot about myself:
- I’m not a good nurturer to grown folks. I can provide the things they need most – a cold cloth, a clean pillow, bananas, saltines and ginger ale – but I cannot pat them on the back, hold their hair back, or anything I would otherwise do for my child. That needs to be alone time.
- I have become a germophobe. Okay, so this probably has a whole lot to do with the fact that we are leaving for the beach on Tuesday and the last thing I want is to be stuck in a one bathroom condo a third of the size of my 1,000 square foot house with three other people and the virus from hell. My house wreaks of Clorox and Lysol and I cannot wash the linens fast enough.
- This has re-emphasized my choice of companionship while I am sick. I don’t like anyone patting me on the back or holding my hair. Instead, I prefer someone run to the store, bring me a cold cloth, and from a distance, ask if I am okay. They too can slather the house in Clorox and Lysol. That is just fine. So what if I live by the Golden Rule, treat others as you wish to be treated. What’s so bad about that?
Mom should feel better in a few hours and I will likely drive her to Macon after Red’s little friend’s birthday party this morning. Dear Lord, heal my mother and keep Red and I safe from this bug so we can enjoy our vacation. Please and thank you. Amen!
How are you on the care giving scale? One being the uncomfortable type and 10 being an angel. I consider myself right there in the middle.
Hope you have a wonderful and virus-free week.