Can't. Take. Much. More.

Since having children, we have had some notorious, unforgettable, nightmarish weeks where everything just seems to go wrong.  It always involves illness, and usually multiple parties.  Our infamous Thanksgiving comes to mind (where 7 out of 8 house residents were violently vomiting within a 24 hour period).  The Thanksgiving before, Braden got sick, then Casey, who was 5 weeks old at the time, and had to be hospitalized for three days to ensure he didn't have meningitis or some other awful thing infant malady (Casey getting a spinal tap ranks as one of the lower points of my life).  Then there was the hand foot and mouth, followed by strep, followed by the cold, followed by impetigo.  You get the drift.  

I'm in the midst of one of those times right now.

It all was precipitated by Casey's injury nearly two weeks ago.  So much so that I keep replaying that moment in my mind....  If only I hadn't put him in that chair...  If only I'd given him something else for breakfast....  If only SOMETHING HAD BEEN DIFFERENT AND HE HADN'T FALLEN DOWN AND WE'D GONE OUT WITH OUR DAY...

Because it all started with that.  

Casey falls.  Casey needs stitches.  Casey ends up in the ER for five plus hours, where undoubtedly, he picked up some wretched communicable disease.  

48 hours later said communicable disease takes hold, and Casey throws up.  Casey gets a fever. Casey becomes miserable for days on end.  I take Casey to the doctor, with Braden in tow.  

Here's where I can't quite figure out how things splintered.  Did Braden simply catch Casey's wretched communicable disease?  Or did he pick something else up at the pediatrician's office? Or, most likely, did he catch both, creating the perfect storm for two equally wretched communicable diseases to join as one and create the affliction from hell?  

All I know is that on Friday around 2:30am, Braden threw up in his bed.  Fine.  I can deal with this. We kept Braden home from school.  Probably one of those 24 hour things.  

But it wasn't.  It hung on and on and on.  More vomiting was involved.  More diarena (as Braden calls it).  By Sunday evening it seemed to have ceased.  And it had to have, right?  I mean, how long can a stomach bug last?  

I was contemplating that very thought when my husband started complaining of stomach pains. And sure enough, it hit him hard Sunday night.  It was a long, long night for both of us.  It's one thing for a toddler to be up all night with the stomach flu... But a full grown adult?  Gross.   

By Monday morning I had had it - with sick days and doctors appointments and ER visits and Lysol.   I was SO ready to send Braden back to school.  After all, my husband was home from work recovering, and I could only handle one patient at a time.  So off to school he went.

Perhaps it wasn't the wisest decision.  

Let me say something about sending sick kids to school - I am strongly against it.  Of course, you don't want your child to be uncomfortable at school, and you don't want the other poor innocent children to catch your child's disease, but more than that it's the whole karma thing.  If I send my sick kid to school and he gets everyone else sick, then undoubtedly it will come back at me ten fold.  I firmly believe this, and I generally act accordingly.  

Around 2pm I got the call of shame - Braden had a "diarena" incident at school, and could I please pick him up.  Yes, I am the crappy mom that sends a sick kid to school.  Title assumed.  

Poor Braden looked miserable upon my arrival.  I showered him with hugs and kisses, apologized profusely, and put him in the car, where approximately ten minutes into the drive he vomited all over himself, the carseat, and the car.  It was a chunky vomit variety, so much so that in order for me to unbuckle his carseat, I had to navigate through the pile of vomit and ended up getting the chunks underneath my fingernails.  

(Grossed out by the details?  I apologize.  But this is my life).  

Luckily, my ill, vomit ridden husband was home to help me get Braden out of the car and clean up the mess.  What luck!  

We hosed the carseat down.  We fed Braden bananas and rice.  And I fell into bed as early as I could, exhausted and exasperated and sick of sickness.  

So here I am, THE LAST ONE STANDING.  But how long can that last?  Every stomach pang, every weird sensation - is that it?  Is it taking me down?  

For the love of all that is holy and kind and good and just okay, PLEASE let this be the end of it.  

I can't take much more.