The Art of Survival

For my bored tortured self who is supposed to be in bed but is desperate for something to do. And for the bored at heart who are desperate for any amount of reading material.

So, survival......the art of it.....I desperately need to learn it....cause I seriously haven't gotten it down at this point. I would love to say that I am quite the expert and have it all figured out. That when we all get sick my children rise at hours of the day unknown to man and bake bread, make breakfast, tend to the younger ones, carry on with their school endeavors, romantically throw mealtime scraps to the chickens scratching about in our yard and, overall, recreate Little House on the Prairie in our modern day America. But...what exactly happens when all but one of the older ones falls entirely sick and the house is left with a ton of energetic younger ones far from being anywhere near sick??? Oh, dear sweet reality, who never lurks far around the corner...or well, really....who never got around the corner to begin with.

Yesterday was day 4 of me being really really sick. And, honestly, I'm sick of this crap. We've gone an entire year and a half at a time without having anyone get anything major. Maybe a little mild fever here or there with a lone kid but that's about the worst of it. No dr, no meds, no anything. But by the time fever rose and could only be managed but not broken with Tylenol I was successfully floating right along in my boat of misery. "Selflessness: The act of carrying on singlehandedly with absolutely no help when you feel like crap and only have visions of your bed. When 8 younger people depend on you and you choose to continue on despite your current misery. Or....more aptly put...when you have no choice in the matter and you must carry on no matter how bad you're ready to just go to bed and make the world go away."

Despite our best efforts at carrying on Grayson carried the load of absolutely everything while I laid in bed piled under a comforter and about 15 sleeping bags. 6 faithful kids saw fit to occupy the bed with me, hypnotic TV trance overcoming them as they watched hour after hour of Little House on the Prairie. Ever responsible 12 year old carried on with the preparation of meals, getting a load or two of wash in, supervising rowdy little toddler sister and the changing of her diapers.

By yesterday morning I was desperate to hear baby's heartbeat. But the act of being on the road by 8am with 6 sick children and 2 healthy in tow and feeling like absolute crap myself was a feat in and of itself. I eventually called on husband who sat waiting at the station for us and cried to him. Nervousness of trying to find a heartbeat wreaked havoc on emotions and exhaustion overtook the body. I told him I can't do this all on my own and that I need help. 2 loads of wash a day will never in a lifetime cut it. Wash is held on a near sacred level in this house due to the fact that if it is not respected it will come back to bite you in the butt....for more than a day on end. Soooo...you don't ever fail to do wash. And the kitchen....it was unfair to expect a 12 year old to not only carry on with laundry but take care of a 16 month old, fix every meal and clean it all up along with carry out all outdoor responsibilities where animals are concerned. Everywhere I turned a sea of crap pervaded. Feverish children who had been awakened too early all cried and I could hardly get myself dressed. So, I cried it all out to husband and begged for rescue. But he had work and was committed to staying in town yet again and then was back on shift as instructor with a class to teach. Rescue saving husband wasn't seeming so heroic at the moment.

I finally gave in and gave instructions to load grouchy, pajama clad children in van. Minimal makeup was applied..enough to look alive but that was about the extent of it. On the road. Phone call put in to dear mother. Please help. Arrangements were made and promises of arriving the following day. Sweet help. On the way. But still a day away.

At the sight of us concerned husband made an immediate appointment for me to be seen. I have quite the dislike of dr's. And it was, afterall, all viral anyway. Once sweet baby's heartbeat was finally heard we made our way over to the appointment. I expertly sat there and told the doc I was quite sure it's all viral and there's nothing he can do. It'd just run its course. Quick throat culture reveals strep. Said I tested so positive it took less than 30 seconds for it to appear. According to him, I'm really sick and it's no wonder I feel like total and absolute crap...complete with fever for days on end. He lovingly told me I "felt" sick and looked sick. How on earth does a person "feel" sick to another person???? As for the "looking sick"....how can I thank you enough sweet dr for the loving compliment???? I will be forever endeared to you. Antibiotic given and instructions to stay in bed for at least 2 days. I laughed. It wasn't until I got home, felt better and started moving around that I discovered just why exactly he told me to stay in bed. It quickly turned back into the sheer art of trying to survive with a ton of sick kids and a few healthy ones. Oh the joy.

With prescription filled, husband brought home the rarely taken antibiotic and there was finally hope of feeling better. The night went by relatively pain free and I was able to blissfully get more than a few hours of sleep......until my bedside became a revolving door permitting every kid we ever had or ever thought about having into our room. My first greeting was by a wailing, red headed 5 year old, "Mama....I can't find Grayson anywhere. He's not in the room with me and he's not anywhere. And my head hurts...(more obnoxious wailing)....and I need water so bad. (wailing)" I heroically rise to the occasion feeling pretty good and pain free myself and walk to the kitchen. Dosing out what must be the 986th 2 tsp cup of pain eliminating Motrin in a week's time I hand it over. Dig through our swiftly disappearing array of cups that we never seem to have enough of and finally guide him back to bed. With a heavy, 2am hoist into midair to assure him his beloved older brother sleeps soundly right above him I then place him back in his own bed and find my way back to my own.

Round 2. I drift back off still feeling pretty good and doped up on my illegal dose of Tylenol when a mere 45 minutes later I again am greeted by a middle of the night visitor. This time a crying 7 year old girl who is quite convinced her "hade-ache" will not even allow her to sleep or think. Fun. Once again I feel feverished forehead, rise..still in a quite pain free state...and make my way back to the kitchen to dose out yet another round of Motrin or Tylenol or whatever I could fumble through in the darkness. Blinding kitchen light as I search for the 2 tsp mark...talk her into crying quietly until it all kicks in so she doesn't wake the entire household....and lead her back to bed. Rearrange covers and tuck her back into bed to eliminate what I can of the "hade-ache".

Back to my own bed.

Round 3. 4:00 am. Yet another bedside greeting not so entirely welcome. This time feeling my own personal discomfort, throat screamed, neck ached and my own throbbing headache was making me more than aware of its presence. Husband still continues to sleep soundly through hourly bouts of wailing kids, as he must make his way to the station come dark, early morning. 2 year old cries pierce the head like a knife and patience is now waning a bit. I rise once again and take his pea sized bladder to the toilet. Despite the fact he has been fully potty trained now for 9 entire months I still put him in a diaper for my own nighttime assurance. I have no desire to go changing sheets at 2 or 3 am despite the fact he wakes up dry 98% of the time. The other 2% is what I refuse to deal with during my sacred hours of sleep. He rises to pee once in the middle of the night almost every night and rarely is this a bother....but the rarely wasn't quite applying to this seemingly infinite night. He stays irritated over the fact he's awake at such God forbidden hours of the night and so he continues to wail obnoxiously, having taken obvious lessons from his 5 year old brother. Diaper off. Bare butt on toilet. Firm instructions to quiet the loud dark cries. Infinite amount of pee from a bladder the size of a grape. Pj's put back on to short little legs. Back down the hallway for the 474th time that night. Back to bed with him. Covers. Car placed back in hand. Door shut. Back to bed for me but by this time I'm seeing it'll probably be short lived.

Round 4. By the time the next greeter came calling my own head was ravaged by its own personal headache, any and all pain meds that had been taken earlier in the night had long since worn off and my own body was now begging for healing sleep. I tried to refrain from staring longingly in sleeping husband's direction as I listened to the complaint now coming from a 9 year old. Everything hurts. Throat hurts. Stomach hurts. Head hurts. Feel like puking. At these words with little to no patience left and now dealing with a pretty self sufficient 9 year old I was about done with my little entourage of early morning visitors. She whines it all out hanging over the bed melodramatically. At the realization of the puking statement I sat up way too fast for my own good and told her to back the crap up and run for the toilet. She didn't need me there to puke with her. And why would she come hang over me when she needs to freakin puke???? No mercy. Maybe had she been the 1st visitor of the night things would've gone a bit differently for her. But, as was, she was gonig on the 50th and there was little to no tolerance left for any of them. So maternal....I know. So, back down the dark hallway she went and the sounds of puking could obnoxiously be heard throughout the house. Thankfully everyone else was sick enough and doped up enough they managed to sleep through her heaving. I didn't even rise for that one. She reenters yet again way too cheery for that hour of the night...or morning by this point....and says she puked....(oh really, honey?? I wouldn't have ever known)....and feels much better. She is now headed back to bed. Thank you so much dear for waking me for that.

More Tylenol on my part and I lie there waiting..since trying to sleep is, at this point, obviously quite pointless. The next little visitor comes, I rise for him. The next older one comes and I cold heartedly tell her to get another drink of water, there's nothing more I can do and to go back to bed. I'll give her a cold washrag and more pain relieving crap in the morning if I manage to wake up....which is not likely at this point. If I don't...just grab a glass of water and get yourself a cold washrag. I'll check on you when I wake up.....if I wake up.

Husband's belt jingles in the darkness. Keys rattle as they are placed in pocket and I am vaguely aware..in some far away, sleep induced world. At some point I must've slept. And I sleepily wonder exactly how many children I slept through...and then realize I don't really care at this point. True selflessness, for sure. He comes to me, mutters something about how sorry he is I don't feel good. He weaves his hands through massive amounts of hair, twirling fingers through sleepy curls. Big warm calloused hand feels forehead, fingers brush face. I lay there unresponsiveness. So romantic. So lovely. Things I have to say but exhaustion pervades. He kisses hair, and moves down to kiss forehead. Smells of soap, toothpaste, mouthwash, manly deodorant and everything fresh and good and clean and masculine wake my senses. Words muttered softly against forehead, "I love you." In my half dead state I manage back quite meaningfully, "I love you too". Just as softly and quietly he is gone and I try not to think about how in a mere hour and a half I am left to face the day alone with a houseful of sick kids and trying to get over this crap myself. So I roll over and go back to sleep and avoid the thought. Afterall...the troops have been called in and Mother will arrive today to save the day and rescue the house from going to hell in a handbasket.....but on second thought...it already has.

Now on to health and wellness....and a clean house.