We have had a series of illnesses this week. The fun started Saturday when Mark had dirty diapers "that make you weep," as Aunt Melanie put it. By Sunday night, the boys and I were vomiting. Greg came down with it Monday evening. Once that seemed to pass, the boys remained very cranky, ran a little fever, had trouble sleeping, wouldn't eat anything...generally sick. I took them to the doctor yesterday to find out that they both have ear infections and pinkeye, plus Mark has chest congestion that requires a breathing treatment and steroids. They are both on antibiotics and seem to be improving already. Mark's medicines make him really hyper and moody, so he's like a little Tasmanian devil running around the house.
But, now I am sick again, this time with a painful sore throat and body aches. Motrin is my friend today. You know, the things that keep running through my mind (when I am not totally feeling sorry for myself and wishing this would go away for good) are:
1) I live in the U.S., in a warm, safe home with medical care readily available, not in Haiti. What a blessing. I have no idea what it means to suffer.
2) Whatever ideals I have held about serving the poor alongside Mother Teresa's nuns in Calcutta, India are just that - ideals - taking care of sick people is HARD WORK.
3) Nursing my own children is just as important as providing relief to countless others suffering around the world, even though I am always tempted to devalue it.
Well, this post has taken enough time away from tending the little ones, so let me scoot and address the dispute in the background.
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