It's been a helluva past couple of weeks. I feel like I'm in a fog, and just as I was beginning to see the sun...
First, let me admit freely that I have, erm, issues with vomit, which will henceforth be referred to as "yonk" and/or "yonking." I detest the words vomit, barf, hurl, spew, and any other accepted slang for the stuff. I have issues cleaning it up, and since it's one of the few strong smells that I can actually smell with my defective sniffer, my tolerance is a delicate thing. Ditto with diarrhea. Just so you know. Even though I'm a mom, and I'm supposed to be able to deal with these vile ejections, there is some sort of defect in my Mom-DNA.
Last week, Anneliese had the yonks. We're talking yonk all over the place. I lost track of how many times I had to change my own clothes because they had toddler-yonk all over either my shirt or pants or both. I lost track of how many impromptu showers I had to take, and how many times I had to rinse her off in the tub, screaming and unwilling, to get the stench off of her. Three difficult days and nights, as I let her sleep next to me, afraid she'd yonk in her sleep and roll around in it. That wasn't entirely out of the question, since the first morning, she woke up with yonk all over her bed and her little self.
She gets over the yonk-fest, and Friday, Grace is grumpy. That night, I could tell she was nauseas because she does what I did as a child... lays on her belly, with a pillow pressing into it, hoping that will stop the nauseas feeling. Some time during the night, she started yonking too. All day Saturday, when she wasn't yonking, she slept. I stayed home with her while The Husband took the other two girls to his company Easter party.
That night, The Husband started yonking, with the added benefit of having the runs. All night. I had the joyous pleasure of taking the kids to my mom's for Easter all by myself, while he stayed home and slept. Luckily, the Kaopectate I made him take worked. But here it is, Thursday, and he's been having the intestinal attacks all week long, as well as some dry heaves thrown in for good measure. He even missed two nights of work at his PT job. He was the grumpiest I've seen in a while when he got home from work yesterday, unable to hold down bread without gagging. And yet, he ranted at me for not having dinner for him. DUDE, you've got to be freaking kidding me. Luckily, I was making some soup, and let him take some broth. But not after informing him that as badly as I felt for him, I couldn't take him being rude and mean to me, and soundly made sure he knew I was done blowing sunshine and rainbows up his bum. Juliana overheard the comment, and in turn told ME that no one would be blowing anything up anyone's bum because bum blowing is not a nice thing to do. I agree.
Last night he made it to his night job, but when he got home, yes, he had another intestinal attack, but got up this morning fine. Tired, but feeling better. No yonking, no diarrhea, and a slightly better mood.
Can we say HALLELUHA!
You would think.
This morning, we get up and it's mixed sleet and rain. Dreary, cold, gray, depressing. That should have been a sign.
He leaves for work as usual this morning, between 7:45-7:50 to get to work for 8:00 AM. I walk Juliana three doors down for the bus stop at 8:20. As I'm walking to the bus stop, I could see emergency vehicles and police cars with flashing lights at the intersection another few houses down. Little did I know, that was because some asshole rear-ended The Husband. He was about to turn right onto the main road, and pulled up to be able to see if any cars were coming from the left. Suddenly, his car is rear-ended and he's moved at least a few feet forward. He hit the steering wheel, then jolted backwards. He hurt his back, and probably his neck. No idea the condition of the car, since the police still have the car. An ambulance came and took him to Hartford Hospital.
Apparently, he tried calling me starting at 9:30 but I couldn't find the phone until 11:00 or so, when his sister called me. As soon as I get off the phone with her, the phone rang again, this time him to ream me out for not answering the phone, and let me know he was "in the hospital all morning." They were just checking him out, no need to admit him, and I needed to go pick him up. As I'm mapquesting for directions, Anneliese wets through her clothes, and then spills a cup of cold water on herself to boot. Grace is in the bathroom, but somehow misses the toilet and drops a crap on the floor. Which reminds me that both Anneliese and Grace have been having sporadic diarrhea attacks as well.
My only thought, as he's railing at me on the phone, Grace is railing at me over the shit, and Anneliese is crying for dry, warm clothes, is "Haven't I cleaned up enough shit for two weeks?" with a simultaneous whimpering cry of my own, "Mommy, help me!"
Yes, I called my Mommy, who picked The Husband up from the ER and brought him home. Thank God for Mommies.
The Husband is currently up in our bed, which has springs poking into the back and sags freakishly on both sides of the matress. He's playing PS2. Luckily, he's not in much pain, and the Motrin they gave him at the hospital hasn't worn off yet. He's probably going to be in some bad pain tomorrow, because he was in pain at the hospital, as well as in the car ride home with my mom.
Make it stop! I need a vacation.