Sick

Oof. I just got over being sick with the stomach flu. Again. For the second time in as many months. I'm sick a lot. It's sort of what I do. I have a plethora of annoying health issues: mild (but annoying) chronic fatigue syndrome, mild (but annoying) fibromyalgia, Hoshimoto's thyroiditis, degenerative cervical disc disease, bulging discs in my neck with arthritis and severe, chronic (definitely most annoying) headaches, both tension and migraine. I list this litany of medical woes not to garner sympathy (although sympathy will not be rejected!), but to paint the background of a larger problem. Being consistently sick is a bummer on many levels. First, it just sucks to be sick. Hanging over the toilet into the wee hours of the morning orking up the day's food intake is not my favorite pastime. Neither is hacking up my left lung on a regular basis (there it goes---bouncing down the hall!), putting frozen bags of vegetables on the back of my neck and taking pills to control headaches and pain, and sleeping up to16 hours a day just so I can function. But the other, more serious problems are that I may lose my job, and my husband is stuck flying solo with Ian. My job (I work at a daycare center primarily with infants) recently instituted a policy that if you miss a certain number of days, you are fired. I am perilously close to that number. I need my job---I am helping put my daughter through college, and adding to the coffers of "Ian money." This is the money we use above and beyond what Medicaid gives us to help with respite services. This is one problem. The other previously mentioned issue is leaving John alone to cope with Ian. Ian is a tag-team operation. We both take turns monitoring where he is and what he is doing. When I am sick, John bears this burden alone. It is hard on him, but he has never complained. Never. He tells me he is tired (and he has just developed a sore throat and cough---he hardly ever gets sick), but he does not look at me with exasperation and say "God, Woman---could you ever just be HEALTHY?!" He accepts my weenie level of health and soldiers on. But I feel guilty. It's hard to feel guilty and get well at the same time. Guilt slows down the healing process. I know it, but can't help it. So, I take my vitamins, wash my hands religiously at work (there are always thug-like, gangsterish germs waiting to jump on me when my back is turned!), and rest. I also pray a lot. Mostly for my patient, stalwart husband, and that Ian will be mellow (ish) on the days I am seriously out of commission. Those reading this who pray, please do so. John is one of the kindest, most faithful, and dearest men I know, and I'm lucky to be married to him. But he is human, and I worry that he'll give out one of these days. For my sake, the world's sake, and Ian and my daughter's sake, I hope he stays strong for a long, long, long time.