Quarantine

Being sick sucks...right? Yesterday morning, I woke up feeling a little off, but figured some Tylenol and coffee would more or less take care of it. I trekked the hour up to work for a planning meeting, all the while still feeling kind of iffy, but managed to keep it together...until I started vomiting. The coworker I was meeting with is pretty oblivious to most things (seriously: I'm pretty sure anything short of flashing him would evade his notice), so he seemed not to care that I was sprinting from the room regularly, then returning bleary-eyed and paler than when I had left.

My drive home was one of those rare, truly hellacious experiences that I'm sure I'll find hysterical in hindsight. I made it almost halfway before I had to pull over on the side of the highway to throw up (which was delayed slightly by a call from one of your transplant nurses, who just couldn't seem to get off the damn phone), then I had to race off the highway to lay waste to a Starbucks bathroom about ten minutes later. I got home, sprinted for the bathroom, and was promptly told by your Dad that I was roughly the color of old paper.

So I went to sleep. For the rest of the day...and the whole night...and much of the next morning. The highest I saw my fever was over 102; I don't even remember the last time I had a fever that high. I woke up this morning feeling at least somewhat better, but I've still got a lingering fever, full-body aching, a nasty headache, and zero appetite. I've basically just been a slug in the spare bedroom.

Hudson, you've been fighting a really minor eye infection for literally more than half of your life. We've tried three different types of antibiotics, and now have to give you some crazy strong stuff and take anal-retentive care of that eye because your immune system is so heavily suppressed. You've been so healthy for most of your life; I mean seriously, what five month old has never really been sick? Other than that whole heart thing, you've never even had more than the slightest suggestion of a head cold. Seeing your eye stay infected has been a tiny but terrifying reality check. You really do heal that slowly, and you really can hang on to something that easily. 


Of course, that means that with this flu I've got, I need to keep my distance. I'm pretty sure I shouldn't be near you at all for days, but while your Dad is doing a rock-star job being a more or less single parent for now, I'm going kind of nuts not being able to be around you, and I'm sure he'll get exhausted way sooner than later. This is how it will need to be any time one of us gets really, truly sick. Even colds and small ailments will likely earn the bearer quarantine status, if what we have is anything contagious, and that is just the way it will be from here on out. 


Hudson, this is one of the first times I've really understood how different our lives are because you are a transplant recipient. It used to be that being sick meant being fawned over on the couch, not locked into the spare room. One of our friends commented to me that when she was sick, her baby was perfectly happy to nurse while she was lying down and too weak to hold him up. I shouldn't even be in the room with you, much less feed you. I've had to cede the air conditioning in our bedroom to you and your Dad because I don't want to fill the air with my germs. Worst of all, I just want to snuggle with you, but there is no way I'm putting you at risk just to feel better for a few minutes. This is just how things are now, so I'll keep watching bad TV on my laptop and wait this sucker out.