Mama Writes: Sick of Being Sick—Until I'm Grateful

I felt it moving in like a rumbling thunderhead just after the sky has finally cleared, and I dreaded it as much: that little prickle in the back of my throat.

It was followed by body aches, a foggy head. By the next morning, I was coughing like a consumptive Bronte character and my sinuses were pounding. But then, from the kid's room, I heard the same, dreaded, hacking sound. And even worse—far worse—than a sick mother, is a sick kid, and far worse than a sick kid, is a sick mother and a sick kid. And far worse than a sick mother and a sick kid, is a sick mother and a sick kid who have been sick for a month straight, and that's exactly where we found ourselves.

Now. I understand I am not in the minority here. But that did not stop me from throwing myself a pity party.

I guess part of why this new illness made me so mad is that since the kid was born, we haven't had a holiday season where the majority of our family of three hasn't been sick sick sick. This year has actually been an improvement on last year, which involved roseola, with its dreaded fever and rash. Or the year before, when our almost 1-year-old had a febrile seizure two days before his birthday (okay, you're right, that one really takes the cake).

For once, I would love to enjoy a glass of eggnog in front of the Christmas tree without wondering if it'll significantly increase my body's production of mucus.

Hey, now you get where I'm coming from. In the last week alone, the kid has puked at the table and pooped in the bathtub, and that doesn't count the two hour coughing fits in the middle of the night, or the dirty looks we got on the subway when he and I got caught in a game of who-can-cough-longer-harder.

But just when I had convinced myself I had the toughest life imaginable ("I've got a book to finish, preschool applications, a kid who keeps climbing into my lap and saying, 'I'm sick, Mama'"), a friend happened to send me the link to a blog called Little Seal and I got a little dose of reality.

Quoting from Little Seal's About page: "In January 2011, Emily [Rapp] and her husband, Rick Louis, learned that their 9-month-old son, Ronan, has Tay-Sachs disease. Tay-Sachs is a rare, incurable, genetic, progressive disease that will claim Ronan’s life in the next few years. Shortly thereafter, Emily began Little Seal, her blog to chronicle her family’s time with Ronan and their struggle with the disease."

Because Emily is a beautiful writer, she articulates the sweeping—and, for many of us, incomprehensible—emotions and challenges she and her 2-year-old son are facing, shedding light on a very real (and oft ignored) subset of families: those whose children have a terminal illness. In recent days, I've pored over Emily's entries, moved and impressed, wanting to spread the word of her wisdom and insights. I'll quote briefly from her holiday post, which reminded me of how lucky I am to have a healthy kid with the occasionally decked-out immune system: 

This is Ronan’s second Christmas, and it might be his last (I threw out all those “My First Christmas” onesies, and I was tempted to burn them). Or it might not. And there’s this: it might be my last Christmas, and it might be yours. Don’t think you are immune to turning around on that path yourself and seeing something you don’t like: loss of love, life, ability, wealth, friends, family, anything. And if you do experience a loss that you live through, I hope you’ll find me so that I can say to you what it DOES help to say to a grieving parent (or at least this parent) during the holiday season, or any season at all: 

1. How are you today?

2. I want to be helpful. Tell me what to do.

3. I’m thinking of you. 

I'm well aware that it can sound moralistic to speak rhetorically in the way I have— "I thought I was sick, but look, here's someone who's really sick"—but that is not my true intention. What Emily says so eloquently in the passage I've quoted is, as I interpret it at least, a reminder to each of us—me, especially—to keep an eye on how lucky we are to embrace each (bathtub-poop-filled, vomit-at-the-table) day with the people we love, most especially our children. And to remember, above all, to be kind.

Two days ago, I went to breakfast with my mother at . I tried to keep my coughing to a minimum, but it resonated throughout the cozy restaurant as I ate my breakfast sandwich. We chatted with the proprietor a bit about the matchbox cars he collected as a child, and he refilled our cups of Tetley tea. When we had already paid our bill and were bundling up to face the cold, he brought me a paper cup filled with cinnamon tea and urged it into my hands. "This is what I drink when I'm sick," he said warmly, before turning away to another customer. I was so taken aback by his thoughtfulness that I don't even know if my "thank you" made it to his ears.

As I walked outside, I thought of Emily's list:

1. How are you today?

2. I want to be helpful. Tell me what to do.

3. I’m thinking of you.

Not so very hard to apply to everyday life, whether you're sick—or someone you know is—or not.