Warning- this is not a "feel good" one.  Proceed with caution. 

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I often wonder how bloggers keep their private life private.  For me, that's where most of my good stories come from.  Probably because I've kept a journal since I was 11 years old.  After a while, even the most mundane events of my life could become "stories".  Even a few good ones!  Well, for the sake of "privacy", maybe I'll try to weave a little taste of fiction into my story-basket. You can choose it's contents.  

48 hours ago, the "Norovirus" came for us all.  I've never heard my husband holler so loud while hurling into the toilet.  Newlyweds.  Lots to learn.  But it was alarming enough for me to cry and use pet names I've never even considered before.  Blush-worthy for sure.  "Oh, my love.  My BABY BEAR!....".  Ah, gawd.  But when you hear your loved one make a sound you've never heard in your life, you'd be amazed the great lengths you will go.  I remember seeing my own sister I've known as a best friend for 38 years, in the labor room.  I held her hand and whispered encouraging words to her and the pit of my stomach shook when I heard her moaning in pain, almost as if possessed.  And then "shuuuwuuut uuuuuuuup", she groaned at me.  I remember my eyes falling to the ground and bawling my eyes out as the far more experienced midwives kindly ushered me out.  There's gotta be a word for that kind of uncharted pain-territory.  

It was like one of those bad dreams where you would do anything to make yourself wake up.  But he kept going.  And going and going.  That horrible sound.  What do I do?  After my best attempts at being the world's best care taking "wifey", I said we needed to go to the hospital.  We were staying with a couple, two of our best friends we've known forever.  And of course, he and my husband were instant best friends when they met.  "You wouldn't believe how close the hospital is to this place.  Seriously, its like right and right and you're there.  And its open and the name of it is....and its so close...", the kind of excitement you get when you can fully accommodate the people you love so perfectly in a tough situation.  

We both cruised my pitiful vomiting pile of a husband to the what felt like "The Piggly Wiggly just 'round the corner".  Oh yeah.  We're in the south.  The darlin' sweet Melissa checked us in and rolled in in a wheelchair about 20 feet through a door and into a clean little cubical and cushy bed.  Oh, Lord, that quivering bottom lip and heavy breathing and shakes.  I know those.  I almost left God's green earth years ago from salmonella poisoning.  Grammy performance week.  7 Days at the Cedar Sinai ER.  Almost missed performing.  Almost missed a high five from Paul McCartney.  Another story.  Later.  After a nice re-hydrating IV bag and "Norovirus" diagnosis, we dropped him off in the soon-to-be bachelor bed and I hustled to the store for the meds.  

I often make fun of my sister for being a total sanitarium neat freak OCD disinfecting yahoo. But something has taken over me.  I had to beat this.  I had to win. That google wiki about the "norovirus" said it is "very hardy".  But a mountain woman is HARDIER.  And I had to prove it.  Prove it by spending a large chunk of my retirement on rubber gloves, disinfecting wipes, surgical masks, lysol spray, more wipes, antibacterial soap, Airborne, Emergen-C packets, clear and flavorless Pedialyte, BERRY flavored Pedialyte, 3 different kinds of dairy free easy on the stomach liquid meal shakes, saltines, hand sanitizer, ointments, ginger ale, and a million things I'm probably forgetting.  Oh...and the meds.  Almost forgot.  I made it home at 7am and began pumping the regimen into his practically deaf and sleeping ears, with my safety mask on.  Then I sprayed every inch of our poor friend's beautiful upstairs and prayed to the gods that favor would fall upon me and have Norovirus pass me by.  Only a few hours later, our friend downstairs started holler-hurling too.  It's happening.  ....I went into apocalypse mode and began washing EVERYTHING on the new "sanitize" feature on my friend's washing machine, which I was so "jazzed" about.  Jazzed.  Lord, what the hell is happening to me?!  The other day I mumbled under my breath, "Jeez Louise...I figured TJ Maxx would have a WAY more impressive selection of fanny packs than THIS".  Pure outrage.  

My little sister, the "yahoo", is somewhere in the Pacific Northwest right now with a real cocky grin on her face because her grungy bacteria-breeding camper girl sister finally understands!  And I don't even have 4 kids like her!  I have NONE!  Ah, the misery spreads.  And she has to stop that crap, FAST.  Frankly, SHE'S the hardy one.  I sit up here all alone in my little "2nd guest room", that I am so thankful for.  My hands are raw from washing and washing.  My OWN sheets are clean and sanitized "in case my own sweat gives ME the virus!!", still praying to the gods for favor, while hovering over "Stranger Things" on my iPad, an arsenal of tonics, tinctures, ointments and fluids, laughing a little to myself.  I would bleach the toilet even after I MYSELF, would pee.  I'd wash my hands after washing my hands.  Then wear rubber gloves to pee again because I didn't really pee enough the last time.  I think I might understand anxiety and OCD a little more today.  I'm wiping my own doorknob from my own handprints.  I'm sleeping in a bare and chemical-infested room with the windows wide open...in the middle of winter.  I refuse to touch my incredibly twitchy and itchy nose, eyes, ears, chin, forehead.  I'm buying time before I can sleep a sleepless night again.  

It's a 24 hour winter stomach virus thing.  Then its over.  An anxiety filled OCD dominated tragically un-present life vs. a few hours of vomit?  Then laughter?  Because I would laugh after.  I have.  I would again.  

This story ended up being completely true.  Fact.  I didn't even stir in some extra color.  Blame it on a guilty conscience.  If you want some more fiction, lemme know.  Again and as always....sorry I'm late.  

 

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