I knew I was in trouble when the body aches started. My husband had just left for a two week business trip across the country. Within a day, I was in bed with a full-blown flu, the kind that makes the room spin if you attempt to stand.
My daughter was eight, and my son five. All the grandparents were out of state, and my close friends had children of their own that they did not want to get sick. So we were pretty much on our own. Even though my kids were quite independent, I was a little worried about how they would feed themselves for a couple of days. Turns out it wasn't my children I should have been concerned about.
It was all I could do to crawl to the bathroom and back. There was no way that I could navigate the stairs, nor attempt to fix myself something to eat once I got to the kitchen. I needed to rely on my children for sustenance.
I knew from the sound emanating from downstairs that my kids were taking full advantage of my weakened state to watch marathon television. My beleaguered throat would not allow me to call out to them, so I waited for what seemed hours for one of them to check on me. When that hour finally came, rather, when one of them walked by the door, I croaked out something incoherent.
My daughter poked her head in. I whispered hoarsely, "Water...please."
I heard her shout down to her brother to bring me up some water. Then she disappeared. I waited. And waited. About an hour later, my son bounded in and jumped on the bed. His bouncing shook my very existence. I begged him, "Please, honey, stop bouncing. Please bring me some water. Please."
"Sure, Mommy." He bounced away and blessedly returned moments later. In his hand was a small Bob the Builder cup, half-filled with lukewarm water. I grabbed it and drank it in one swallow. It merely teased my parched mouth.
My daughter walked in then. I took hold of her arm tightly, and implored her through tears. I told her I had not eaten in a day and a half. I needed an entire jug of water, and some kind of food. I told her I needed her to check on me at least once an hour. I was sobbing by this point. Bless her heart, she finally got it. She finally understood that her mother was truly ill and needed assistance. She got to work.
She enlisted her brother's help, and from the sounds coming from the kitchen, they were making Thanksgiving dinner. I wondered if I should have suggested a bowl of cereal.
They appeared at the door a half-hour later with a tray, announcing that they had made pancakes. I was confused since they were not allowed to turn on the gas stove. I attempted to sit up as I questioned how they made pancakes.
My son smiled and exclaimed, "Oh, easy! We made them in the microwave!"