Kinda like how that little kid in The Sixth Sense said, “I see dead people,” in that freaky whisper, confiding to Bruce Willis his longtime secret and hidden power, that’s pretty much how I want to tell you
I see germs and bacteria.
I’m becoming neurotic about washing my hands and walking 10 feet behind any living thing that I think looks pale, sounds raspy, or coughs into a shirt sleeve.
All this worrying is justified.
Yesterday, I woke up with a slight tickle in the back of my throat. By 11am, it had moved into a dry cough and irritating the hell out of me. (Coughing means I am constantly holding my belly and trying not to jostle Isaiah around as much.) By 6pm, scheduled to stay later for work, I sent an email to my boss explaining that my cough was getting worse, felt like my head was compressing, and felt a little warm on my forehead.
It could be a number of things. It could be a common cold. It could be the erratic change in climate (40-50s to high 60s in one day?). It could be the annual visit from the bronchitis family that loves to descend onto my lungs once the weather provides an easy transport. It could be the damn space heater in our bedroom that dries the room out. It could be that my office swings from sauna to freezer every other day. It could be that my hand sanitizer obsession is proving futile in the wake of GERM SEASON 2009. It could be something Nick brought home from hanging out with high school kids with youth ministry. (Yeah, I know – blame the spouse!) It could be…anything.
I don’t know.
So, I do what most people do when they’re in the limbo of sick and well — commiserate on the couch and think of the worst possible situations while flipping between Dancing with the Stars and the ALCS between the Angels and Yanks.
The worst thing is I feel stripped of energy yet unable to sleep.
To make team Borchers/Factora-Borchers even more hapless these days, Nick’s ear problems have returned with a vengeance. His ear is ringing, making his head feel like it’s going to explode each night and thus scheduling an appointment with an ear doctor. It never ceases to infuriate me how LONG it takes for ear doctors to understand that Nick is in a lot of discomfort and needs to be seen NOW. Not now-ish, or next week, but NOW. As in yesterday; that kind of now.
But he scheduled it last week and still has to wait until Monday. Until then, I try not to talk as loud or as much (that’s hard when I want to tell him all about my lungs and Isaiah’s latest acrobatic stunts), but we’re managing.
We’re still keeping ourselves busy. Nick is caulking the outdoor windows and I’m registering us for a bunch of baby classes and tours of the facility where I’ll be delivering. As thrilling as, “Baby Basics,” and “A Night with the Anesthesiologist” classes sounds, we’re not very exited over a jam packed November of classes and learning.
I keep thinking that people have become really effective and good parents by good ol’ fashion living and learning. Why do we have to go to these classes?
“Because we don’t know anything about anything,” says Nick.
In the end, I concur, “It’s probably a good idea to figure out how to use a car seat, I guess.”