This weekend unleashed some sort of perfect gastroenteritis storm over the 'Zinger household. Baby Greyson's felt rather puny for several days, seeming to harbor a cold. This would figure, given that we were planning a trip to PA to visit my family for Thanksgiving. Saturday night going into Sunday morning (think like 0400 hours) he was vomiting. L Surely, it's just a belly full of snot setting him off, I reassured myself, heading off to work early, so as to be able to take him to the pediatric urgent care that didn't open until noon, without missing an entire shift of work. And silently whining that Starbucks is not open at 5:30 AM here in Richmond.
Work accomplished, coffee in hand, we mosey off to KidMed. Find it's not strep, not his ears, really he isn't all that congested, and not wheezing. We've seen a lot of stomach viruses, the doc remarked. NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
Really, these are awful at base line. Now, take eight people and an average incubation lag time of 12-18 hrs, and 48 hours to mutation, you will have approximately 42 cases in a gut wrenching swirl until it finally works its way through and out of your home, pun not particularly intended. No, sir, I mentally steeled myself, it's just a belly full of snot setting him off. This theory held all through the evening until bed time, when Nathaniel remarked he didn't feel so hot. 2 minutes later and two inches short of the toilet, we heard the fateful sound. I quickly dole out some apple cider vinegar tea (ACV as known to all the health nuts) in an effort to stem the tide. Unfortunately, Sarah & I were the only takers. We headed off to bed, optimistic thoughts of everyone sleeping it off, danced in my head.
0100 and Mr. P. is shaking me to life. This interrupted only my 11th hour of sleep in the last 4 days. The boys are all sick he says, I am trying to get beds changed, I need some help. Baby Greyson's now awake and wailing, and as I stagger toward the lighted hallway, I met Iain half way…and there he lost it once, stagger stagger, twice, ohhhh and there's the third. I stared in dismay at 4 dirty beds, a pile of linens now waist deep, and trail of evidence leading to upstairs bath. We should call 911, my sleep deprived, panicking brain thought. Quickly regaining my senses however, I began dropping towels in all the offending places, and running baths.
2 hours later and having used every single sheet, blanket, and towel in the house, we settled back into bed. Mr. P. remarking that I'll certainly have something to blog about tonight. My lucky readership. I woke around 10, and frantically text message a friend who was supposed to come to lunch. Casa de Zinger is on quarantine. She thoughtfully dropped of a case of Gatorade at the end of the drive way and sped off in the opposite direction.
Fast forward 18 hours and we are mostly holding tight, as the worst seems to have passed. Vital statistics: 8 loads of wash done, 3 remaining. We will NOT being going to visit the real farm for Thanksgiving. So tomorrow, health willing, I will be off in search of a 49 ¢/pound turkey.
A merry heart doeth good like a medicine: but a broken spirit drieth the bones.
(Proverbs 17:22, KJV)