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Don’t Forget Your Rubbers

Todd drives to the Ozarks for a long awaited visit. When he arrives, Sage, Paul and Kite are lying around on the floor.

Sage Cough. Cough cough cough cough cough cough cough cough.

Paul COUGH COUGH COUGH COUGH COUGH!

Kite Uggggghhhhhhh.

Todd (laughing)

Sage What?

Todd It’s like Journal of the Plague Years around here.

So this all started in the wee hours of Saturday morning, when I was woken up by a horrific stench emanating from the litterbox. Because the sun wasn’t even considering rising for another six hours, I just picked up the bag of cat litter and dumped the entire thing over the offending bits instead of cleaning it. When the dust from the litter rose up and I inhaled it, I had a small coughing fit.

It never occurred to me that I was sick; after we left the yurt (where we were more likely to be sick than not) my health returned to its pre-yurt status, which is to say couldn’t - get - sick - if - I - tried - and - since - I - only - got - to - miss - school - when - I - was - sick - believe - me - I - tried. By Saturday morning, however, it was obvious that litter dust inhalation was not the culprit. Settling in for what I stupidly hoped would be a two, maybe three-day bout of the flu, I stocked up on DVDs and rather gleefully celebrated the absence of responsibility while I ate pretzels and limes and watched what may in fact be the only romantic comedy worse than You’ve Got Mail: the movie that actually made me sympathise with the evil corporate CEO because the hippie liberal was so fucking obnoxious - Two Weeks Notice.

On Monday morning, I was feeling much better. So much better that I was a little peeved. What happened to my three days of pampered bliss? Wah.

Kite had been taking care of Paul while I was recuperating, so I picked him up and we played for a few hours. By then I was starting to feel awful again, and by the time Kite showed up, Paul and I were both wiped out. She cleaned the entire kitchen, made both of us some lunch and we agreed that she should stay here until I was feeling better. By Tuesday, she’d caught it too, Paul had an ear infection and I made an appointment with the local clinic.

I’d already taken him to an out of town clinic that Mia recommended, where I met with Robert the Nurse Practitioner, who I absolutely loved (”I don’t prescribe antibiotics lightly,” he said, “If I thought there was some kind of alternative remedy that would work for Paul’s staph infection I would let you know, believe me.”) and he actually had me thinking about vaccinating Paul for tetanus (”Listen, I think you need to look at vaccines individually - I would never give my kids the chicken pox vaccine, for example, but tetanus…”) until I heard later that an acquaintance had fallen for it, gotten their child the tetanus vaccine and then waited anxiously for six months for her health to come back to what it had previously been.

Anyway, so Paul had just finished a course of antibiotics, which in my opinion has a lot to do with how severely the flu hit him, and I hated to bring him back for more. But I didn’t want to take any chances - and as someone who suffered from chronic ear infections as a kid, I know how terrible they can be - so I took him in, with Kite as the resident not - too - sick - to - help - yet chaperone.

After a long wait in the crowded waiting room (the entire town has come down with this flu) we were called in. The nurse took his temperature. I must have sounded like the babysitter as I asked, “Is 102.5 serious?”

“Yes,” said the nurse, solemnly. “Yes. Do you have any children’s Tylenol with you right now? No? Then give it to him the moment you arrive home.”

So with those words, I turned into the obsessive compulsive temperature checker. It’s just never been an issue before. He has a fever, we give him Tylenol if we think he needs it, if not, we don’t, he gets over it and everything’s okay. We didn’t even own a thermometer. My own childhood history was less than helpful, as I was never sick. But the nurse freaked me out so completely that I bought a thermometer at Wal-Mart when we went to fill his (yes, good guess) antibiotic prescription and stuck it into his mouth as often as possible. Finally at three o’clock in the morning, after I’d given him children’s Tylenol and it didn’t seem to be bringing down the fever at all, while Kite lay on the couch and tried to get some respite from her own fever, I called Todd.

“Everybody’s okay,” I said, when he picked up the phone. “I just need a little reassurance.”

He looked up fevers on Ask Dr. Sears (an attachment parenting pediatrician) and read that the important thing was not so much the reading on the thermometer as the child’s demeanor. I looked over at Paul, who was dancing in his chair, calling over to me that he’d figured out how to win a game on the pbs show Cyberchase website (geared towards eight year olds) and said, “Well, he’s definitely perky and alert.”

We talked a little longer, I asked Todd to re-read a paragraph or two and listened to recounts of his own childhood fevers. As we were about to hang up, he laughed and said, “You know, the reminds me of when I was in college and my friend Jane called me in this total panic because she’d just realized she was hanging out in a gay man’s dorm room and was terrified that she had contracted AIDS. I rolled my eyes and read her every word of this poster I had on my dorm room wall, ‘Don’t Forget Your Rubbers’ (no, shut up, I was seventeen) and she had me re-read the bits over and over until she felt better. Not that I’m comparing your fears to Jane’s, just that I’m Reassurance Man. Call me with your fears! Even if it’s two o’clock in the morning! I, Reassurance Man, will help you!”

After that I was able to calm down quite a bit, though I still had my anxious moments.

Kite, meanwhile, in the throes of her own aches and endless coughing, managed to keep Paul and I fed, clean and happy while keeping the kitchen spotless and making a Lego tower for Paul’s wizard doll. That woman is made of steel.

We all waited, literally counting the hours, until Todd came walking down the sidewalk (looking, I must say, excessively fabulous with a new haircut, jeans, a black tshirt and a wool sports coat over it. Normally I couldn’t describe what I’m wearing without looking, but…mmm. Priddy. Of course, I have the flu and my period so sex is just a sad fever dream for now). Kite headed home, I collapsed and Todd capably took over the Care and Feeding of the Sicky Tyrtles.

Paul’s fevers finally stopped, so now Paul and I spend a lot of time lounging around in bed coughing and whimpering. (Okay, that’s not true. I lie in bed and whimper - Paul runs around the house playing hide and go seek with the cats.)

Meanwhile, it’s just two more months at the most before we’re all in (cue Hallelujah chorus) Canada.

Sage is lying in the armchair, maudlin and tired.

Sage You know how when we were sick at the yurt -

Todd Sorry, you have to be clearer. That’s redundant.

Sage You know that time we were all sick at the yurt and Kite was snowed in across town and Paul was a baby, and there was no one to take care of us and we just sat and wished and wished Kite would come?

Todd Yeah…

Sage That’s how I feel now. I feel like I wished and wished for you to come take care of us, and you did.