Ages and ages ago on February 9th (so, yeah, okay it was just over a week ago, but it seems like eons ago) my wonderful husband surprised me with a date night for our anniversary. Dinner reservations and even an overnight sitter, so we could spend the night at a sweet little cabin (that his brother owns).
A nasty storm was blowing in, so we decided to scratch the overnight plans and walked in the door just as our wonderful niece (the babysitter) was putting Hambone in the bath because he "had a tummy ache and a fever". And that, my friends, was the beginning of the end.
Hambone got sick, no vomiting, but massive diarrhea (again, if you saw my Tweets you may remember something about "sharts") and an off tummy for several days. Sunday, we were celebrating my birthday at my mom and dad's when Baby Girl started feeling punk and running a fever. We rushed out of there with a puke bucket and gifts in tow, blowing kisses and shouting thank yous.
She threw up a couple of times that night, seemed okay the next day and then proceeded to have bouts of vomiting off and on until Thursday when she started in with the "fast poops" and vomiting again. I finally threw in the towel and called the clinic and was told (of course) that she should be seen...it was just a little too much for a little too long.
We get there, see the doc who recommends we make our way over to "Short Stay" (kinda like a mini ER/hospital unit for kiddos that are anticipating a "tank 'em up and send 'em home" kind of stay) for some IV fluids and medicine to help her nausea.
We got settled in, she handled the IV start like a trooper, she got her medicine and fluids, we discovered her "bicarbonate" level was low, which earned her an additional fluid bolus, and we were sent home, IV still in place, with instructions to return the next day if she worsened again, but encouraged that with her bicarbonate level being low that getting fluids can "break that cycle" of vomiting.
It was just what she needed...she's been golden ever since.
The Mr. and I, however? We got hit. The Mr. came home from feeding cows on Saturday complaining that his hips hurt so bad he could hardly sit still on the way home. I was all, "yeah, sure, whatever" and dashed off to get birthday stuff for the Pal's birthday party the next day. (Before you think I'm a mean old wife, I did tell him to take ibuprofen and catch a nap...he did, and felt betterish.)
Then, Sunday came around. I got breakfast in bed. The eggs weren't hitting the spot, so I passed them up but scarfed down everything else. I was 1/2 way through my coffee before I realized my tummy was a bit off. I mentioned it to the Mr. who concurred that his was a bit too.
As the day went on, I felt crummier and crummier and at the moment I thought I could get up to finish making the dinner for that night's party, I was struck with back pain so awful that it took my breath away. For those of you that have been in labor...you know the contractions you get that stop you in your tracks and render you unable to talk, breath, move, etc? That was the effect this back pain had on me.
Oddest. Thing. Ever.
I hobbled back to bed, with quiet tears on my cheeks and waved my white towel. I was done. Could. Not. Function. With sheer will power and determination I did not throw up, but I will say, my GI system did, indeed begin to empty itself...ifyaknowwhatImean. Oy.
And through it all, the only thing I kept thinking was "I had no idea the kids (or the Mr.) felt this awful!" while remembering the back pain and limb pain that Baby Girl complained of the first night she was sick. Poor little peanut. Oh gosh, hang on, I have to go hug her again. Sweet little girl.
I mean...WHAT ELSE could we get?
Wait. Don't answer that.