We started this week with two snow days and it looks like we’re ending it with a sick day. Jonathan is a part of a Grand Opening Team on a (you guessed it) Chick-Fil-A grand opening this week, and today (the actual grand opening) he was sent home because they frown on someone throwing up and then serving customers. He made it home, pale and slightly shivering, and went directly to the bathroom for an encore performance. An hour later he received another curtain call, and now he’s lying in bed, curled up in a cocoon of covers, trying to sleep it off.
This virus has been making its rounds through our neighborhood and it seems to be a 12 hour tour of Dante’s Inferno (or so Sharon described her experience.) It seems to be intense but brief, as far as these things go. The timing on that would mean that he should be up all night with alternate bodily evacuations (I’m trying to be delicate here) but will begin to feel better about the time the children wake up tomorrow morning. Convenient? Not really, but the Lord knows this too and holds it all in his hand.
My fear is that we all come down with this one by one, but my greater fear is that I get it and the children don’t. When I was 37 weeks pregnant with the cheesedoodle I got a stomach virus and ended up dehydrated and in the ER with IV fluids for four hours. Frankly, I don’t have the time for that right now, and I can’t even begin to imagine what my household would look like after 12 hours of me down for the count with the cheesedoodle running around. I could try to imagine it, but my brain recoils. It would not be pretty.
So, I’m praying for Jonathan’s recovery, our protection and the Lord’s provision of favor in the eyes of the Chick-Fil-A corporate staff who had to send one of their Grand Openers home with the flu. And just to be safe, I’m going to go to bed early to try to avoid any personal encounters of a viral kind.