It has returned. I am filled with so much dread and anxiety that every creak in the night wakes me up. I know it will be days before I see another good night’s rest, despite my best efforts. Our house is now at DEFCON 1 status. The stomach bug is back.
It started with Bryleigh this time, the poor child. She spewed twice but the pain lasted for days and she languished in bed. I tried to pump the boys full of grape juice to spare them the nasty bug but they were not having it. Two days went by, I thought we had slain the beast but I was wrong.
Quinn went down next, his barf will go down in the annals of family history as the nastiest thing I have ever had the privilege of cleaning up. It was so bad, it turned me into a vegetarian, at least until the memory of regurgitated chicken leaves me. Quinn is a trooper, he puked and rallied like a frat boy at the last party of the school year. He hurled at 7 and requested breakfast at 8. I admire his moxie.
My emetophobic tendencies were grossed out, to say the least, but I obliged him and he was fine. I took off my rubber gloves just long enough to down some grape juice. I had lost the battle but was ever determined to win the war. The war being, the rest of us pulling out of this unscathed. The odds looked slim, my emetophobia at an all-time high, I kept drinking. Every new puke would reset the clock.
Colin downed the grape juice as well because he’s smart and believes in its healing properties. By the time the dreaded bug made its way to his gut, he dry heaved and went back to playing video games. Its ranks now defeated, it went back and licked its wounds. I thought the worst was over. The evil that had entered our house was finally defeated, I was wrong.
In the middle of the night, the light from the bathroom roused me from a peaceful slumber. The husband was sick. Screams of NO filled my head. Once I assessed that he was fine, I asked the $64,000 dollar question, did you drink the grape juice? No, was his response. He had thumbed his nose at the grape juice and the bug thumbed its nose back.
So here I sit, the lone wolf yet again, guzzling grape juice and counting down the hours until I am in the clear. The faint smell of bleach and latex fill my nostrils as I pray that I remain the last one standing.