When Mom is Sick. Cough. Sniffle. Repeat.

Mary Tyler Mom has seen better days, folks.  No joke.  I feel like hell.  This is day 11 of feeling like hell.  This hell, though, is better than last week’s hell where, technically speaking, I felt like I had moved to hell’s basement, was handed a shovel by Satan himself, and told to start digging. 

Last Friday, unable to stand it anymore, and with the loving support (and frustrated nudging) of Mr. Mary Tyler Mom, I dragged my a$$ to the local Walgreen’s to sit in line with all the other sickies.  To my great and grateful surprise I was diagnosed with acute sinusitis.  This called for antibiotics!  I had convinced myself it was allergies, or viral, or that I would just have to function in misery for the rest of my life, so the idea of a pill to make it all go away had me tearing up in front of a total stranger.  The gal advised me to take all my meds, as prescribed, and rest.  Ha!

Somehow, just as I had dragged by sorry self to the doc, I had been dragging my sorry a$$ to work all last week.  No doubt, making my Tenth Stage of the Khan rocket into those double digits.  When I last checked, it was, like, Fifty-Seventh Stage of the Khan.  That’s not good. 

I was grateful it was a Friday evening.  Mr. Mary Tyler Husband was home much of the weekend, so I could rest.  Because my man rocks.  Hard.  But not all men rock like my man, which got me thinking, what’s a mom to do when she moves to hell’s sub-basement?  Seriously, I know I have it easy.  I’ve got one two year old son.  A good one – – Mary Tyler Son takes after his Dad, so he rocks hard, too.  When I was alone with him, he would visit me on the couch, pat my head, and get back to his trains or dinosaurs.  He didn’t complain about eating cheerios with yogurt for breakfast and dinner.  He took daily three hour naps.  The dear let me watch HGTV once for a whole hour before asking for Diego.  Lordy, do I love Mary Tyler Son.

If I were feeling dangerous, I would have called in sick and taken care of my bad self while Mary Tyler Son went to his sitter.  But with two days off for jury duty and three days off for miscarriage in the last month, calling in sick didn’t strike me as wise.  Imma still new to my gig and when your boss doesn’t know you, when you haven’t built up the workplace equity, three prolonged absences within a month is a sure fire invitation for being seen as a troublemaker.  Nope, I like my gig, so I don’t want that. 

And that makes me wonder what the other moms do whe they’re sick.  Not headache sick, but Fifty-Seventh Stage of the Khan sick. I asked this on my facebook page and got a few responses, a third of which involved nothing.  Power through it.  Dang, that sucks.  Hats off to the moms who power through it.  I wish for you more understanding kids, bosses and husbands/domestic partners. 

For me, I do what I need to do, but not a damn thing more.  The dishes will keep.  The laundry will heap.  Scrambled eggs are a fine source of protein for breakfast, lunch and dinner.  I do the bare minimum and crawl out of the hole when I feel better.  Which Imma do straight away.  As soon as I feel better.  I promise.  But tell me, what do you do when you’re sick?