IT'S A DAD'S LIFE:Of course you feel sorry for them with their puking and coughing, but . . .
THE KIDS don't get sick much but when they go down, they go down hard. This time around it was my fault.
I brought the virus in. I don't know which passing acquaintance infected me but I'd like to slowly relieve them of their fingernails.
It started with a dull ache at the crown of the head. Soon after, the coughing started, which seemed to facilitate the dizzy spells, closely followed by the stomach's announcement that it was no longer capable of fulfilling its duties.
As all this unfolded I slowly grasped that until now I had only ever experienced a heavy cold. What I had previously convinced myself were bouts of flu were merely warm-ups for the main event which had taken this long to visit my well-nourished bones.
Sometimes it's nice being sick. Crank the fire, brew up the Lemsip and settle into some serious DVD viewing with a large bag of Kettle Chips and regular doses of pain medicine. For this scenario to work you need a sympathetic co-conspirator.
Early on in a relationship, this can prove an opportunity to show your sensitivity and caring skills; you may seize such a chance to show your new or prospective partner how concerned you are for their wellbeing and demonstrate the lengths you will go to ensure their comfort.
Once you're married, all such pretence goes out the window. Throw in a couple of kids and when one parent goes down, the other sees it as simple dereliction of duty.
The one left standing has to assume all regular responsibilities and be saddled with the extra burden of a whining, demanding and ungrateful spouse. This time around, though, I was just too sick to be particularly unpleasant. Days passed, I sweated, and just when we seemed to be approaching the tipping point, the kids got in on the act.
At this point, even through the haze, I have to confess to being grateful for my own condition. As their pitch and temperatures soared I was pushed to the side, but at least I could avoid having to deal with their irrational and insatiable demands.
Of course you feel sorry for them, with the coughing and puking, but at least when you're in your own sickbed you don't have to scrub the floors after them.
I had also previously been banished to the spare room to splutter to my heart's content. From there I could hear my diseased offspring take it in turns to assault their mother's reserves of patience.
Unable to accept that there is any benefit in suffering alone, as soon as either child wakes they hone in on the sleeping healthy parent and proceed to sob inconsolably until fatigue takes them, usually around the same time as the other child regains consciousness.
This newly awakened patient is at once aggrieved to still feel ill and then further enraged to see that her sister has stolen into the parental bed. The resulting sickness-induced fury is biblical.
Throughout this, their mother manages, just, to maintain her calm. But by the fourth night of interrupted sleep she is looking worse than the rest of us. My temperature is still up but the edge has been knocked off the fever. Which is why I feel a little guilty for feigning sleep when she comes looking for help.
I reasoned, based on experience, that as she had no way to blow off steam at the sick children, she would be only delighted to unleash her wrath at the first alternative target. This was one daddy who was keeping his head buried deep beneath the covers.
We have fought this barrage with every available weapon. I am the traditionalist and insist on Benylin, Calpol, Lemsips, Strepsils and all the old reliables you remember your mother using in the quest to soothe your brow.
The missus hails from the alternative school so our defence has been two-pronged. For every spoonful of nuclear gloop ingested we have also been primed with garlic, vitamin C, echinacea, citricidal and homeopathic remedies with names so Latin, Caesar himself would have struggled with the pronunciation. I don't know my arnica from my pulsatilla but I'll take a punt on anything to ease the pain in these bones.
Where homeopathy and traditional medicine seem to have something in common is in their complete ineffectuality in the face of the flu. Nothing worked.
For a short while there was some relief from Solpadeine but I found it incredible how quickly my tolerance developed. I would have wound up with a pack-a-day habit if I'd self-medicated at the required amount. All that worked was time and patience and both were in short order.
Nobody's quite right yet but we're on the road to wellness. We must have years of health credits in the bank after an assault like this. The missus deserves that at the very least.