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    We’re a lesbian couple in central Virginia and we're raising a child. Oh my god. We had a child. Read the rest over at Butch…and Pregnant.
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Test Results: Negative

And really, what am I supposed to do with that?

This has been one sick household.  For over a week, someone has been evacuating from some orifice so forcefully as to knock loose drywall and crack tile.  Practically. You’ll remember I was blaming the cookie dough.  Well, let’s restore the dough’s innocence.  Apparently, I was not poisoned by salmonella so much as I was just feeling poorly.  The nurse on the phone said, after ten days of lower GI troubles…if you can call sleep-shitting something so mild as troubles…that my stool samples were negative.

Me: What does that mean, negative?
Her: It means you’re just fine honey, no salmonella or bacteria or anything
Me: Then why am I still sitting here on the toilet where have been for 240 hours except for the 3 hours of midnight sheet changing?
Her: Well, it was probably just a virus.  You sound like you’re doing fine now.

What is this diagnosis-by-tone epidemic?  My mother, whom I have not chatted with in a couple of weeks, called to see how I was doing after a string of menacing Facebook updates:

Her: How are you?  Doing better?
Me: A little, my stomach still sort of hurts and I’m exhausted.
Her: Well, you don’t sound like you were that sick.

But back to the point.  I was pretty sick.  And it wasn’t eggs or anything antibiotics could whup out of me.  I washed my hands every second of every day, except for those 240 hours when my hands were otherwise occupied with toilet paper.  I didn’t kiss my wife.  I held my baby at a distance.  Nighttime feedings were a race to see whether or not she could finish eating before I had to dash her to the ground and flee.  Seven days into it, we were still contagion-clear.

And then RR started projectile vomiting.  She might have caught it at daycare, after all, all of the other kids and one teacher came down with the same symptoms within 8 hours.  And the nastiness, whatever it was, never moved past her stomach into her intestines.  Given my ongoing unpleasantness, I crossed my legs tight and we headed for the doctor where we determined that I still had a fever and RR would be fine, probably.

And then D. started projectile vomiting.  She crumpled under the sheer unpleasantness of it all and I was grateful that I had cleaned the toilet not once but THREE times during my “virus” and that it was, at the moment, clean.  Or, was until that point.  So there I was, exhausted, muscles quivering from lack of sugar and fat, watching my wife burst into feverish flames of puke and my darling daughter  cease to emit anything as a backlash from our anti-vomit measures.  I knew being a mother was going to be this hard.  I just thought that the hard parts would come a little later, like when I had to stop her from cyber-bullying.


One Response

  1. ohmygoodness! 😦 i hope you guys feel better soon!all of you, simultaneously. (hugs)

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