24 Hours Of A Mum With A Bug

I’ve spent the last day and a half in bed with something gross: I’m not exactly sure why but I think it might have been the result of a dodgy oyster (damn that predilection for fancy foods).  And, if this same reaction ever happens to you, might I suggest you do not google ‘oyster poisoning’ in the middle of the night when you’re trying to sleep through your stomach cramps? You will become convinced that you have contracted vibriosis, a deathly shellfish-related illness that will match every one of your standard food poisoning symptoms.

Luckily, as my status of alive and kicking proves, I am well enough to read more on vibriosis this morning and deduce that I have a higher chance of dying while skydiving than by eating oysters. But, just in case, I will limit my intake of the shelly buggers from hereon in, and come to think of it will also cancel that sky dive I never planned to take. Safety reasons and all that.

I wistfully think back to the pre-children days of illness. Back then it was always a shitter – sometimes literally – to be ill, but it was also more of a treat, too

Every time I attempt to parent while trying to nurse some kind of horrifying bug (usually inherited from the germy kids, though not this time) I wistfully think back to the pre-children days of illness. Back then it was always a shitter – sometimes literally – to be ill, but it was also more of a treat, too. A couple of ‘free’ days off work, lolling about in bed and catching up on the (pre-Netflix) Sky Plus box? I’m in! And as I struggled to lever my almost-better self out of bed this morning I thought of those youthful times when I’d quite often take an extra bonus day post-illness to really rest up. If you’ve had one day off you may as well take two, am I right?

Not any more.

The first day of my bug I very conveniently fell ill immediately following the afternoon school run, meaning I had time to set the kids up with snacks of leftover Easter eggs (there was no time to chop up organic carrot sticks) and the TV before I crawled into bed. In some fluke of organisation I cancelled the activity clubs they were supposed to be attending that evening and took my make-up off (priorities) before grabbing the sick bowl and retreating.

Ah, the sick bowl. That disgusting object that is a symbol of illness like no other. Ours is green and from IKEA, kept in the cupboard under the sink. You know things are getting serious when the sick bowl emerges.

I slept for a bit but then, eurgh, I could not lift my head from the pillow. Water made me feel sick. Light made me feel sick. Air made me feel sick. It was awful.

Sending a prayer to the me of the day before who’d decided to put a cauliflower cheese in the fridge instead of cooking and eating it immediately, I asked Elfie (bless her cottons) to put the oven on for me. She duly complied, and I staggered out of bed to throw the dish of cheesy vegetables in. I felt slightly guilty that there’d be literally no accompaniments with it – definitely not the planned sausages and roasties – but I weakly promised both children more Easter egg if they cleaned their plates. And nothing works quite like chocolate bribery, am I right?

Again, I’d suggest trying not to serve cauliflower cheese up to your kids if you have a tummy bug. I reckon I’ll be running to eat oysters before I can look a cauliflower in the eye again. Boke.

The poor kids. It’s horrible to see someone you love ill, and I know it must be awful for them to have to call ‘man down’ for the the person they rely on to be bulletproof. They were ever so good though, sorting themselves out for the evening and coming into bed for a cuddle, even though Hux warned me to keep my ‘mouth germs’ away from him (I did as I was told).

Luckily my mum was able to do the school run for me the next morning – I say it was my mum though it could have been my dad, or next door’s dog, I was so out of it

Luckily my mum was able to do the school run for me the next morning – I say it was my mum though it could have been my dad, or next door’s dog, I was so out of it that I did well to remember the children’s names never mind who took them to school – and as soon as they were dispatched to their respective places of education I was able to go back to sleep, sweet sweet sleep.

I had a fever which is why I think I had such wonderful dreams when I was ill: I’ve just finished binge-watching The Marvelous Mrs Maisel (SO GOOD), and I assume the influence of the show is the reason why I dreamt up an entire stand-up playlist set in my sleep. I almost tried to write it down when I woke but, feeling very ill and weak, I told myself I’d remember it when I was better. Of course I couldn’t, and so I will go through life always wondering if I missed the opportunity of a lifetime, or whether the jokes I wrote in my head while battling a temperature were only funny because I had a temperature

I woke up this morning not feeling top-notch but, knowing when you’re self-employed (and a mother) those ‘bonus days’ don’t exist, hefted myself out of bed and back to the school run. Thanks to what I am now calling my ‘enforced cleanse’ I have a vaguely flat stomach so have pulled on my tightest jeans and will avoid my favourite carbs until, ooh, tomorrow to prolong the rare non-bloated feeling.

And what did I learn in my 24 hours as a mum with a bug? The same as I always do: 1) I do a lot for my family and when I’m not around it temporarily falls apart. 2) I am SO grateful to have my health, oysters notwithstanding, and 3) being ill is really really horrid.

Can someone please remind me of the above the next time I try to order shellfish?

 

2 Comments
  1. My husband was sick last week and our daughter just didn’t know what to do with herself, she was so worried about him because she’s not used to him appearing to be so unwell. I kept having to remind her that he’d be fine and it was just a bit of illness but as you say – she think he’s bulletproof.

    Mel ★ http://www.meleaglestone.co.uk

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published.

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.