Last week a gnarly stomach virus slammed my house. It hit swiftly and fiercely like a tornado, leaving no toilet bowl unchurned. Dax, our four-year-old, was the first victim. I was the second to fall a few days later, and my husband Dan followed suit just hours after me. Our one-year-old Case was the final victim, succumbing first thing the morning after Dan and me.
Thankfully, the virus left almost as quickly as it came, so we didn’t have to spend too many days cooped up in our house. That said, the 48 hours that we all were homebound (and bedbound, honestly) gave me a lot of time to process the situation. What I found to be particularly interesting was how the same stomach virus affected each of us in vastly different ways, despite exhibiting the exact same symptoms. I suppose it shouldn’t surprise me, but each of our reactions to the bug was pretty congruent with our personalities.
Dax has always been a worrier who tends to be overdramatic. So when the virus hit him, it did so with great fanfare. Lots of crying and screaming at first, followed with me issuing him calm rationalizations while on the bathroom floor on why he couldn’t possibly throw up any more than he had. I’m grateful that Dax was first, so that we could give him all of our attention.
I was next, and being the supermom I am (LOL) I didn’t accept the illness. I was lying on the floor playing with the kids when I felt the queasiness sneaking up on me. I tried to shake it off, but when it would only get worse, I quietly excused myself to the bathroom to let it all out. After it was my turn to hug the toilet, I swished water in my mouth, came out of the bathroom, and headed to the kitchen to start dinner.
“Did you just throw up?!” Dan asked incredulously.
“Yes, I did,” I replied, trying to look and act like everything was fine. I rubbed my stomach a little bit, and then walked toward the oven. The Mom-Show must go on, as they say.
“GO TO BED. RIGHT NOW. Do not get the rest of your family sick.” He pointed to our bedroom.
I did reluctantly go to bed, assuming I was just a one-and-done, and that I needed to get back to my mom duties. But I was wrong. I ran back and forth between the toilet and our bed so many times that night.
A few hours after I was banished to our bedroom, Dan got the kids to bed and came in running after me to also throw up. It was his turn.
Dan’s reaction to the virus was one of embarrassment and shame. He hated to feel so vulnerable and out of control, and he didn’t want me to help him in any way (which was fine with me, quite honestly, because I was just trying to figure out what to do in the unfortunate event that we both had to hurl at the same time).
And lastly, there was Case. Consistent with Case’s entire personality, he threw up one time without flinching and didn’t even seem to care. And that was it.
I love how different we all are, and I love that we all get to care for each other in specific ways.
And I REALLY love that we’re all not barfing anymore.