Sick Day

I'm home from work today. I have a nasty snotty cold. This seems to happen to me with much more regularity here in Ecuador. Not sure why that is. Maybe because the air is dry? I read recently that the best way to stay healthy (from colds and flus) has something to do with your sinuses. I'm not really in touch with my sinuses much. Maybe they're rebelling?

Anyway, here I am. It's 9:10am. I slept for ten hours last night, but to no avail. I woke up with all the symptoms I had when I went to bed, plus an extra one for good measure. But I don't mind too much. I like sick days. I have since I was little.

When I was a kid there was a very strict stay-home policy. Unless you're puking or running a fever, you're not sick. So my sick days were few and far between. But even as a kid, I remember relishing those days.

Mrs. Williams, who was my school nurse all 13 of my Allen East years, would call my mom. I would, of course, listen in from my spot on the plastic cot.

"Hi Susan; Marilyn Williams here. I've got Leslie in the office..... Yah, nothing serious but she's running a low fever. I think maybe you should take her home....Ok, we'll be waiting for you."

Once Mom was on her way, the key was to not accidentally get better while you waited. There was still the lingering danger of being declared miraculously healed and sent back to class. I believed in Jesus. That guy was perfectly capable of healing me on the spot. I may or may not have tried to look my most pitiful during those minutes.

Eventually I would be in the car, buckled into the front seat of our Mercury Monarch (which I didn't have to fight for, for once). We might need to stop at the store on the way home for some 7-Up. We didn't drink a lot of pop when I was a kid, but 7-Up or Sprite or Ginger Ale was more or less a requirement for a sick day.

When we got home, everything seemed strange and surreal. Maybe it was the height of the sun and the shadows. The day, outside of the constant low roar of the school, seemed strangely quiet. I thought of people who were always home during the day. Little kids, babies, and stay-at-home moms. I decided that when I was done with school, maybe I'd be a stay-at-home-mom.

Back at the ranch, I would change into my pj's, in the middle of the day. It felt somehow exciting to put on pj's at 11am. Like jumping into a pool with your normal clothes on. Mom would pull the blinds low to help me sleep. The sheets were cool and comforting against my feverish skin. The house was quiet. No Brittony, sleeping in the other bed. No sound of Mom and Dad talking downstairs in those few, precious hours between putting the kids to bed and going to bed themselves. As the middle child, there was very little "quiet house" in my life. There was also very little "having Mom all to myself".

Maybe that was my favorite part of being sick: having Mom's full attention. Taking some medicine, and a juice glass of 7-Up next to the bed. Maybe some Saltines. Do you need anything else? Ok, you get some rest. You'll feel better when you wake up.

And she was right. I did feel better when I woke up. Usually Britt and Josh were home from school by then, and things were back to normal. The day was on it's way out. The house was full of the noise of life again. Mom was starting supper. Dad was on his way home. I still felt a little peaky, but I was on the short road to recovery.

Tomorrow would be another normal day. But today had been a nice break from the norm. A cool, quiet reprieve in the middle of life. My own personal sickness sabbath.