My weekend with the boys was underwhelming to say the least. Don't get me wrong, I love seeing them and I love having them here and I love spending time with them, but all three of us were battling our health issues this weekend. Poor little Gerry has a cold sore that's bothering him and a rash on the back of his legs. I may as well slathered that kid in medicinal cream. And Nick had a funky looking welt on his upper arm that he couldn't stop scratching. This thing was massive, about the size of a quarter, swollen and an angry red colour. He showed me and it did not look right. I texted the ex, who didn't answer, and I made the decision to take Nick to the emergency room after he told me there was a kid in his class who had chicken pox. I dropped Gerry off with Gina, the Chilean woman who lives next door to me and her daughter Carly (so named because she's an 11 year old dead ringer for the star of that show iCarly) and took Nick to emergency.
They had us in isolation because of Nick's exposure to chicken pox, and we waited for about an hour when the doctor (who was, frankly, a smarmy jackass) told me he didn't know what it was, but it was probably a reaction to something that touched his skin, and some hydro-cortisone cream would probably take care of the itching. We went home, stopping for ice cream and horsing around in the parking lot being silly the way you can only be when you're six years old.
I picked up Gerry from Gina's and Gerry did NOT want to go. He was playing with Carly in the living room, dancing to some pop music and squealing with laughter. Gerry had a king-sized meltdown in the living room, and I just had to throw him over my shoulder and carry him out.
Nick's spot went away soon enough, but poor Gerry's bum was raw and red and covered with a rash. He took it in stride, but he wasn't comfortable at all. Nick was bummed again that Gerry was taking more of my attention again, although it wasn't as bad as the last time they were over. Telling Nick that Gerry was only a year and a half and needed more attention wasn't very consoling. And frankly, I wasn't feeling so hot either. After a lazy weekend, I dropped them off, had my customary Sunday night beer at the local pub, but cut it short, feeling like dinner wasn't sitting right in my gut.
I got in, wrote a couple of emails and went to bed. Woke up at 2:30 in a cold sweat, needing to throw up RIGHT NOW. I ran to the can, barely making it before the fireworks began. I'm not a graceful vomiter. It amazes me how some people can puke almost nonchalantly and with little mess and drama. I sweat. I heave. My eyes water. I fight every single convulsion. It seems to go on and on and on. And it did. By the time I cleaned up, had a few sips of water, and dared to go back to bed it was 4 am. And then I was in the nether region of being too early to wake up and too late to really fall back asleep. So I lay awake and stared at the ceiling, debating whether or not I should phone in sick. Money's tight right now, and I really shouldn't, but if I'm running to the bathroom every 15 minutes in a cold sweat, they'll probably send me home anyway, and I can probably make up time down the road.
Screw it... I'm sick. I call and leave a message. But I didn't get back to sleep. I wrote a lengthy piece on another, unrelated blog, watched some Youtube and Channel Awesome videos and sat in the tub reading, too bored to laze around the apartment, but still too blah to go out and do something. I didn't eat at all yesterday, and nerved myself to have a can of soup this morning with no ill effects.
I go back into work this morning, and of course there is panic that I wasn't there yesterday. I work as an estimator in a construction supply outfit that supplies material to most of the city's major builders. My main area of expertise is roofing, drywall and insulation, but I'm also managing a co-worker's accounts while he is on vacation, so the other people in my office are hard-pressed to know how to cope if all of the sudden I'm not there as well. My workmate Stan, who I've been partnered with since the day I started there almost had a fit and left because he got stuck wearing both hats yesterday. It took me most of the day to smooth things over, but it was okay. I find myself in a perfect state of Zen nowadays, where work was once a gigantic source of stress now barely stresses me out, even though our industry has taken an economic beating in the past year. All I can do is shrug I guess. I can still work a shovel, if I need to.
I feel somewhat better, but I have nothing that resembles an appetite right now. I ate a little bit of noodles and chicken, but it feels like a swallowed a brick. It's okay. With the money tight I could stand to do a little Spartan living right now. No beer for a while. No potato chips. No fast food. Until I get back into fighting shape.
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