A family sick together, stays together

The hubby celebrated his second week of full retirement by being quite sick with some flu bug that has worked its way through our family these past seven days. Apparently, this was the same flu that my stepdaughter caught two weeks ago, and she was also kind enough to share it with her younger siblings.

Our little boy seemed content to just cough up his lungs for several nights straight without any other signs of flu-like symptoms, whilst the toddler had a fever, upset tummy, horrible fluid cough, and made the decision that sleeping past 5 a.m. is no longer an option in her life.

I, however, have not caught this illness yet, much to my wary surprise.

I usually am the first to catch every single virus that comes around and get to wallow in my merry misery whilst everyone else around me remains hale and hearty. Apparently, I was spared this one.

Yippee. (Note the sarcasm inherent in that statement?)

As the only healthy individual in a family of ailments, I have not gotten much rest lately. Make that any rest.

As soon as I have one child calmed down and sleepy, my next child wakes up and needs soothing. Then, as soon as I manage to calm my husband down, another child awakens and needs something. And so on and so forth.

Sleep now seems as elusive and as far-fetched as the proverbial needle in a hay stack. The four-year old coughs until after midnight, and the baby awakens quite cheerful in spite of the green stuff on her face at about 5 a.m. The teenager needs to get up at 6 a.m. to head off to school, and the few hours of sleep that I might be able to manage in the wee hours of the morning are seriously marred by the grunting and gasping snarl snores of a severely congested husband, who apparently has no trouble sleeping through a coughing pre-schooler, a wailing toddler and a Category Ten Hurricane followed by a nuclear attack.

But I am truly not looking for sympathy here.

Okay, I take that back. I am looking for sympathy. Lots and lots of sympathy, empathy, understanding, and possibly a week at an all-inclusive resort in the Bahamas with a personal nanny, masseuse, private chef and possession of a really nice flat stomach to wear a swimsuit upon.

Aren’t fantasies wonderful?

One thing about these illnesses is that at least the family is suffering together, as if that makes it slightly better. The last time my husband got this violently ill, he ended up alone in a military hospital with an IV in his arm in Kalsu, Iraq after eating out with some local Iraqis.

I do want it noted that his recent severe illness became apparent after a family dinner at a local fast food establishment, so he cannot blame his infirmity on my cooking as he has been wont to do in the past.

Then again, he had good reason for blaming my cooking in that incident, but I’m not going there. This is my column, after all, and I am certainly not going to denigrate the writer.

So, as the sole healthy individual in a family of weaklings, all the responsibilities this week have fallen to me. It was nice of my husband to inform me late in the week that he was feeling better and that, oh by the way, last Friday he had invited ten people to our house this Friday for a barbecue.

Apparently, this flu bug also impairs memory.

Also apparent: My darling husband is quite lucky he’s kind of cute when he’s sick and helpless, because otherwise he’d find out just how cute a sick person can look with a barbecue grill stuffed up their snoring nose.

Then again, I will take the stuffed up congested snorting head beside me in bed over the alternative of the past year any day of the week.

It’s much more difficult to torment a sick husband when he’s in Iraq, and not near as much fun.

Tiffany Horvath is the mother of two and the stepmother of one. Her husband, Drew, was deployed to Iraq and returned home in December. She writes every Sunday about life at home as a wife and mother.