Wrung Out

It has been a trying few days in the household. Two of the Offspring were afflicted with galloping gastrointestinal virus, and Herself was sleepless for two nights in a row - the first night offering consolation to Offspring the Third, who was most upset about vomiting on Easter eve lest he spend all of Easter being sick, and the second night keeping close watch on Offspring the first, who was quite ill indeed. While Herself felt faintly green, she mercifully did not develop any major symptoms and was able to look after the Offspring as needed.

Interspersed before and after caring for the ill and wretched were obligatory family events surrounding the holiday. These occasions were complete with the requisite noise and sensory-overloading egg-related activities. Herself worked hard to encourage proper behavior by certain family members who are prone to difficulty, and there were some intensive efforts to steer conversation away from certain unpleasant topics towards more desirable topics.

In addition, a follow-up visit to the doctor to monitor progress of her treatment plan for her ongoing, minor-but-irritating medical problem, turned into a 2 and a half hour wait to be seen. The fact that Herself did not burst into wracking sobs or run screaming through the halls of the doctor's office is a testament to both her patience and her determination to ensure that this issue is properly resolved. The good news was, the treatment is indeed working and healing progress is notable. She is permitted to resume all regular activities - if she can find the energy.

Today, Herself is feeling strung out and generally exhausted. She is behind on her work, she must pay the bills, and she is concerned that her efforts to sterilize the house will be insufficient and that other family members may still fall prey to the pathogens. Most of all, she is annoyed at herself for having moments of self pity and for not being more stoic.

A telephone conversation with her sister and e-mail exchanges with a couple of friends have bolstered her somewhat, and I am being supportive by lending my listening ears. I suspect that what she secretly wants most, though, is for someone to make her a piece of toast, brush her hair, and tell her that everything will be OK.

It will be OK.