May has the swine flu and so do I, and the four of us have been more or less cooped up in the house since Friday on account of feeling lousy (May, me), taking care of people feeling lousy (A) or feeling rambunctious as ever but not being allowed to leave the house alone (August).
Since Friday. That makes four days, and I am just ill enough that it has mostly felt sort of cozy rather than awful. Ditto May, I think; except for a scary high fever spike on Saturday (which came right back down after we got on the stick with the Tylenol/Ibuprofen mix), she’s been relatively chipper and without any of the deathbed-like illness I’d come to expect from the H1N1. We’ve slept a lot and watched an ungodly amount of TV, including an Olivia video over and over. I had been unaware that Olivia was even a show, but it is, and with catchy music and somehow just as much imagination as the book. We’ve also eaten a lot of popsicles. And French onion soup that comes in a box—my new favorite food—with baguette toast and lots of gruyere on top.
Of course, a slew of weekend plans had to be cancelled, and the girls are going to miss their school’s fun yearly field trip to the apple orchard (we’re keeping August home even though she’s still well, on the theory that she is about to get sick any day and is likely contagious, because God knows there is no containment of germs in this house no matter how many times in a day we chant “Catch your cough!”). Also we are both missing any number of things at work and trying to scramble to get them done from home, but overall there is a very nice feeling of resignation that we are just going to miss a week of our lives to slug around and get well and keep from infecting our friends and neighbors. Or two weeks, I guess, depending on when and whether A and August get it.
The fact I’ve been sitting up long enough to type this must show that I’m on the mend, but it’s kind of worn me out. Back to the couch.