I don’t get really sick very often. In fact, I was feeling quite confident that I’d made it through another family illness unscathed. That is, until Sunday afternoon.

Don’t ask what I had for lunch on Sunday, because it is unlikely that I’ll ever be able to eat it again. After lunch, I started feeling cold, even though the house was reasonably warm, and I started feeling sore, and tired, and needing-to-lie-down, and needing-to-get-up-again. It soon became clear that I was ill, and that my illness was going to demonstrate itself in a most unfortunate manner. So, though I could not determine the time of said demonstration, I at least was able to determine the place. The rest of the evening was no better, as I was too sick and sore to fall asleep, and thus spent the entire night in a horrible daze, no doubt keeping Julie awake, who caught the same bug during the night.

And so it was on Monday that the kids had no parents, because Julie and I rarely had the energy or stomach to stand, let alone move. Fortunately, sleep came easier Monday night, so the kids had about one full parent with both of us home on Tuesday. Wednesday was a reasonably normal day – I even made it to work – and we’re both feeling a lot better today.

Because I’m so seldom sick, I easily forget how miserable it is – the horrible violence of your body rejecting its contents; the constant shifting of positions in a feeble attempt to find physical comfort; the inability to form a coherent thought or do anything productive. I realized my lack of compassion for the sick, even when they are my own family members. Many sick and elderly live like that, or worse, day after day, with no end in sight; how blessed I am to generally live in good health, with a healthy family.