Showing posts with label sick. Show all posts
Showing posts with label sick. Show all posts

Friday, 8 February 2013

If I'm never leaving, get me some wine and padded walls please...

Not Everyone Loves the Benylin...

Due to non-stop coughing, we had to do a medicinal upgrade. It was not what you would call popular.
"I hate that medicine. It makes my uvula barfs," Kaelan tells me.
"Your uvula?" I ask.
This surprised me - not the barfy part, more that the Dairy Queen commercial had made this much of an impact ("Uuuuvula!").
Seeing my surprise, Reece informs me with pride "I've seen my uvula." 
"No!" I gasp.
"I looked in the back of my throat to see what was making me cough and there was this drippy thing hanging down. Do you know what it was?"
"An alien?"
"My uvula," he explains - VERY seriously.
"Mom, there's no such thing as aliens," Kaelan puts out there.
"How do you know?" I ask.
They both give me "the look" - the one that says we do, for crying out loud we have to fill you in about UVULA'S!

Maybe I Need my own Secretary...
or Stop Having Mental Breakdowns...
or Take a Frickin' Pill Already...
(call it what you want, I need a break)

So, both my sons are (are you ready for a giant surprise?): Freaking. Sick. Again.
I dial the FIRST school to let them know Reece won't be at school today and the secretary picks up, "Good morning!"
And it hits me - after a month of the rotating sick through the house I am just tired of making this SAME friggin' call, EVERY friggin' day. (Admittedly this is poor timing for an epiphany.)
I just heave a sigh into the phone...
"Hello?" she says.
Shit! "Hi, it's me - again... Terry."
She laughs, "Hi, Me Again! Oooh, is someone not coming?"
"Reece is sick, again. He has a bad cough, so he won't be there today," I explain.
"Oh dear, I thought I heard him yesterday. Wasn't he just  away sick last week?" she asks, innocently.
"They're all sick! It's been FOREVER! It's NEVER GOING TO END!" (I realize I'm losing it, but seriously - it's getting to be a bit much.)
"I hear it can last fourtosixweeks," she tells me. This number comes out very fast (it could be she suddenly became a FAST TALKER - or possibly it was nerves from talking to a housebound parent becoming unstable, you be the judge).
"46 WEEKS?!" I scream into the receiver, "Oh my God, I'm already on week THIRTY!!!"
"No, no - four to six weeks," she repeats slowly, trying to reassure me (they must take a course "Talking Down Hysterical Parents for Dummies" - very popular with the school crowd). "So you see? You're almost there."
"Oh. My. God. I don't think I can take this anymore."
"Hopefully we'll see him on Monday."
Was this the end? OH NO! Then I had to call the NEXT bloody school while I was all 46-week-distraught.
"Good morning!"
Really? I am NOT having a good morning - but the good-mommy-handbook says you don't blast the secretary with that statement... It probably says you don't scream at them either. (I'm just guessing here... I never actually read it.)
"This is Kaelan's Mom and he is still sick," I tell her.
"Oh, still?" she says sympathetically.
And the grip I had begins to slip - slightly (and by slightly - I mean I COMPLETELY lost my mind...yet again).
"YES! STILL! It's never going to stop! It revolves through our house in a never ending germ swirl. I'm hanging a white flag on our front door so NOBODY comes near. By the time I ever get out of here I will squint up at the sky and say what the hell is that shiny ball up there?"
And that was probably too much information.
"Sounds like you have cabin fever," she says.
I have something alright.

I Didn't Need that Heart Anyway

I hate bugs. Hate is not a strong enough word. Uuber hate? Uuber fucking hate... They creep me out and scare the ever loving crap out of me.
What's worse? Bugs waiting to kill you when you've come out of the shower and you are VULNERABLE in your towel! I walk into my room and step over the "creature of doom" unknowingly giving it the view of a lifetime and scare the shit out of myself!
After screaming and OF COURSE I can't stomp the motherfucker, because - hey, BARE FEET right? I realize this bug looks a little mutanty...
I suck it up like a badass and lean in like a pro (and hope I've suddenly developed ninja grace if this thing can jump).
And - fuck...I've been scared shitless by killer string.

Monday, 4 February 2013

Never Look at Peanut Butter the Same

The End is Now

Stock up on your bottled water, y'all, because the end IS upon us...stupid germs.
The Zombie Flu Prophecy has come to pass and I, Zombie Mary, have spread.
As Karma would have it (Bitch that she is), the one that laughed at me (ahem, my brother - aka the prophet) was infected. I won't laugh (it'll make me cough and he's threatened to take me out).
Our entire house was taken down. It spreads like wildfire!
My Mom is among the fallen. I suggested she go to the doctor - as she sounds terrible.
"I don't need to go to the doctor." (Does this sound familiar?)
"Are you afraid they'll give you the Q-tip up the nose?" I ask, referring to the Whooping Cough test she made ME go for.
"You're never going to get over that, are you?" she grumps.
"NEVER!" I shriek. SOME orifices are NOT meant to be violated by others. It's a trauma.
...And still I lost - she's not going. She went for a nap instead.

If it Walks Like a's My Son

"Reece, why are you walking like a duck?" I ask.
My son is stiff-legged, rocking side-to-side, slooowly making progress towards the dinner table.
"Are you...farting?" I ask quietly. (Because - hey - you never know.)
"NO! My back legs hurt," he replies indignantly.
"Your...back legs."
"Yes! I mean back here," he explains as he grabs the back of his knees.

Blast Off

We're getting ready to leave my children's Dad's house and my boys are standing by the front door. I am across the house in the dining room, gathering stuff up.
THIS is when I hear the biggest gaseous explosion EVER. It literally vibrated. Fraaaaap!
"Ugh! UGH! K!!! ... Oh my God!" yells Reece.
... Sniff - sniff.
"Wait, do I smell peanut butter?" asks Reece.
I don't think I'll be eating peanut butter for awhile.


Damn Angry Villagers

Reece asks me "Why is Frankenstein so afraid of fire?"
"Well, the villagers tried to burn him out of the castle where the scientist made him."
"That's just rude."
"They were pretty scared," I try to explain.
"Why? Just cause he's got stitches?" he asks, getting all angry.
"Well, he WAS made up of pieces of dead people."
"So you can't just go dig up dead people and cut them up?" he asks.
"Actually, no."
"Well, that's no reason to burn him out of his house! It's not like they were ALIVE. It's no reason to be scared of him."
"You're right, that's pretty judgy."

Friday, 25 January 2013

Zombie Mary

I Have the Zombie Virus

It began with my oldest son getting a cold. HIS cold lasted one week. He also generously shared it with me...and it mutated.
This went from a cold to some kind of snotty, vomity, pasty-gray skin pallor I-don't-even-want-to-be-around-myself-ickiness.
I have been SO SICK... I am now Man Sick.
I came to this conclusion when I lost my sense of humor.
My children's Dad walks up to me in the kitchen and says:
"Hey, you have a three-inch long hair growing out of your back!"
"What?! NO! Please tell me you're messing with me."
"Scout's Honor," he says and holds his hand up - LIKE THIS:
I'm bawling away and he says "What? I swore like this!" And does it AGAIN!
"So? There really is! I can't see it!" Now I'm crying harder.
"Scouts don't swear like that!" he explains - all exasperated.
"How would I know? I'm a GIRL!!!" I wail.
"...Wow, you're really sick. You should go lay down."
And THIS is how I knew I was Man Sick.
NOW, how I know I have the Zombie Virus? It was my first guess. I was the right color, after all. (Not to mention I coughed, dry heaved AND sneezed at the SAME TIME - I didn't even know that was possible. It could only be worse if I had shit my pants.) 
Google is wonderful - or horrible - or an enabler. It all depends on how you look at it. After chatting on Facebook, I put my symptoms into Google and, Ta Da!...NO, it didn't say Zombie. It said Typhoid, or kidney failure, or I swallowed an object (I think I'd KNOW), or an anxiety disorder (which, okay - I already know), or dementia (which I'd forget), nearsightedness (I shit you not)...the list just got more horrible.

So I'm pretty sure I was just going to stick with my first guess. I'm becoming a zombie. I already have the shuffle down pat.
My brother is certain with my crappy immune system mutating a cold into something THIS AWFUL that I will cause the zombiepocalypse.
That's me... Zombie Mary.

School is Dangerous

Somedays I wonder what ACTUALLY goes on at my oldest son's school. This story will explain why.
I pick my son up from school today and I ask him how his day was.
"Pretty good," he says.
"What'd you do today?" I ask.
"Oh, I don't know. I made a paper airplane and some zombies," he tells me as he waves his paper airplane at me. It was pretty cool!
"What about reading? Did you do some reading?"
"......Aside from the killing, this place wouldn't be half bad," he says.
WOW...sounds like a negative to me.

Tuesday, 4 December 2012

Santa doesn't Counterfeit - Death by Q-tip

Santa is NOT a Government Agent

Reece is my Chatty-Patty. He NEVER runs out of things to say. Personally, I think it's a miracle he doesn't get struck with Laryngitis.
Kaelan, on the other hand, is very straight forward. Talking is not my favourite game - so I'll tell you what I want to say and you'll LIKE IT!
Their Dad and I take the boys Christmas shopping and to see Santa. It was VERY exciting! We were so lucky, no big line up - whoo hoo!
"Who's going first?"
Oh, the PRESSURE! After the you, no-you! Kaelan gets up there with his reindeer antlers. He's all good-to-go!
"What do you want for Christmas?" asks Santa.
" Plants VS Zombies plushies." And he's ALL DONE, no dilly-dally. Mission accomplished!
Reece goes up to Santa, settles on his lap...and for the first time in his life - draws a big blank on what to say! AWWW!
"I'll have to think about it," he says.
Poor guy! We ask him about it after:
"I wanted a diamond, but I don't think Santa makes money. He has to work for the government to be able to do that."

Whoopin' it Up

So, I have been the Queen of Sick for two months. This is why I now deserve a title, and possibly a tasteful crown... Although I would not say no to a completely gaudy tiara. (Let it not be said that I am too picky!)
Friday I get a call from my Mom - who informs me she is still the boss of me. (Who knew? My kids were right!) She insists I go to her clinic (oh yeah - the boss-of-me gets ownership. At least there's no peeing involved there, lol). "You need a Whooping cough test."
"No, I don't." (Like that EVER works! But I'm desperate, and childish, and I have NO shame).
"Yes, you do. I told the doctor. He agrees, so come down right now."
"No I don't. (Yeah, cause I just received my imaginary doctorate.) I already had every possible test - and x-rays!" Personally I think once you've been irradiated, you should be fabulous... After all, you had to wear the "outfit".
"See you in five minutes."
And like THAT - she wins!!! I want that superpower... And a cape. And maybe some sparkles.
So I do as I'm told, because if she's the boss, maybe she can still spank. You never know - it wasn't illegal back then.
I go in, the gloating was minimal - but don't think I didn't see that glimmer in her eye. I'm told to lay down... Darn (and eek!) he's got some kinda tube and I'm CLUELESS.
"Are you ready?"
"That all depends on what you're going to do to me."
"I'm going to swab your nasal passage (EWWW), and I have to go all the way to your nasal cavity (WTF?!?!). So it's not going to be pleasant."
Please note: when a doctor says this - RUN like your ass is on FIRE.
Y'all - I had my brain roto-routered. Yuck and WTF!!! Tears are running down my face, I'm lying down and thinking "don't friggin' cough or you'll DIE!!! Death by giant Q-tip, how's that going to look in the paper?"
He's done, yells out the door (because privacy is no biggie in a small town) "She lived, but just barely!"
Holy shit.

Pickin' Your Brain

My brother, Dennis, likes to do magic tricks for the kids once in awhile.
"Can you pull my watch out of my ear?" Kaelan begs my brother - aka: Farmer Dumbledore.
Ever the entertainer, he "crams" the watch into my son's head - thrilling him to no end!
"Do you see his watch?" Dennis asks Reece.
"Yes, I do!" Reece exclaims.
"Waaay down in the middle..." Reece mutters as he's squished against Kaelan's skull, peering intently.
"Hey! Don't pull out my brain!" yells Kaelan.
Oh, the dangers of amateur magic...