Yesterday marked 7 years since my father-in-law died. Seven years that we’ve been taking care of Mom. Usually, on December 22nd, we’ll sit with Mom and talk about Dad, then take her to the cemetery for a visit. Yesterday was very different though because Mark and I were desperately ill with the stomach flu. It all started on Sunday when the whole family was together for Baby Bea’s baptism and one of the little ones threw up. I was sure it was just from excitement, but by Thursday morning, all 4 of our children, their 3 spouses and 2 of the 3 little ones were either weak from, or right in the midst of, this terrible virus. We texted Dave to see if he could cover meals for Mom, only to find out that he was sick too. Three other people that I could usually call on in an emergency (2 friends from church and a neighbor) were all dealing with the same flu in their families.
In my stupor, all I could think of was “Visiting Angels” and with the help of Siri, I got someone on the phone. The woman I spoke with was very nice, and she really seemed to empathize with our plight, but she never called me back, after promising to do so. I know that we were asking a HUGE amount – to send someone over to a home dripping with Norovirus just days before Christmas, but if they couldn’t help us, they should have told us. I am now on a mission to find some local care-taking agencies and interview them before the next emergency happens.
How did we make it through that fateful day? Good question. At the appointed time, I got out of my sick bed, donned gloves and mask and hobbled 2 doors down to Mom’s house. I made her cream of wheat, tea and fruit, delivered it to her room, put “OnGuard” in the diffuser and told her the best way to show our love for her was to stay away from her. At dinner time I went through the same routine.
It was a terrible day to leave Mom all alone, but she understood. Next time we’ll be better prepared!
Surviving the Sandwich 