I experienced a new sensation over the last six days.
Coincidentally that’s the length of time I’d been very sick . . . and not posting either.
It started Wednesday night. My throat felt like someone had scoured it with steel wool and my head immediately began to fill up. I thought then it was simply a cold.
By Saturday I was having a hard time breathing.
By Sunday I was in the doctor getting a very strong antibiotic – they said this particular bug was resistant to a lot of them – and I’d come down in just a matter of two days with pneumonia.
This isn’t an uncommon worry for me. I have asthma, though not the severe kind that would put you in the hospital. Still, any cold immediately triggers the worry it might go into my chest, which it did.
The interesting thing for me, though, was not the worry that I wasn’t getting better. It was watching my kids as I progressively got sicker and sicker. My oldest sat next to me on the couch spending less time in her room. Noah, one of the twins, was constantly coming over to give me hugs and tell me he hopes I feel better soon. His face was drawn and a little pale. In fact, I noticed that he was getting up in the night to check on me. It wasn’t hard to see since I was unable to sleep much anyway.
By Sunday I knew that where in years past I would have stuck it out as long as possible and worked through anyway, I couldn’t now. The kids know full well that their Mom got pneumonia, was in the hospital on Tuesday and passed away by Saturday. They were reasonably apprehensive.
As a result I could see them watching and waiting. Rightfully so.
I also put on a much brighter face as a result. I still made dinner every night. When Noah or Sam would come over I’d tickle them. I made sure they heard me staying up when I put them to bed.
Still…didn’t get them to do the dishes any more often than before.