Last night I woke up around 3am with my stomach hurting. It was a familiar pain, one I'm heavily averse to and paranoid about, because it's the sort of pain I had for months in my 3rd pregnancy. I was restless and had an overwhelming urge to take my retainers out. That was a foreshadow, for soon it turned into a merciless morning of simultaneous vomiting and diarrhea. I don't throw up often. I never threw up once in any pregnancy. It's frightening for me, since it's so unfamiliar and signals that something is really, really wrong.
Well, nothing is really, really wrong, but I am really, really sick. It took all my energy to go downstairs and email a quick note to my manager at work. I crawled back up to bed. There was no way I was leaving the room today, let alone go downstairs. Then I developed a temperature too.
Then I got a phone call. "Mrs. Doudna? I've got Gabriel here in the office, complaining of a stomach ache..." Oh, no. I called Dave, but he didn't answer (meeting). I couldn't believe it. I was going to have to gather myself and go get him. I could barely crawl to the bathroom, let alone go out and drive. But this is what being a parent really is -- you dig deep and find strength you didn't think you had when your child needs you. Absolutely nothing else would have torn me out of bed today.
Gabriel's no complainer or story-inventor. He looked lethargic and sad, and within 5 minutes of getting home, he rushed to the bathroom and threw up too. I set him up in bed with a garbage can and a towel, and he went right to sleep. He got up a few hours later and is now playing quietly.
But it never happens that only one person in the family gets stomach flu. It sweeps everyone. This weekend is going to suck.