Sickness

Normally the flu season hits at school about a week before the Christmas program, randomly picking off victims and resulting in obvious gaps in the singing lineup on the big night. Paul somehow always manages to stave off the bug until vacation, and he has spent more than one Christmas curled up under a blanket, flush-faced and glassy-eyed.

This year was different. We have 32 students, a new record, and I believe the only one missing at the program was Emily. And then we made it through vacation without much sickness.

But now it's hitting. Ben's friends have been getting sick one by one, and today he succumbed and I dragged him in to the clinic in Junction City, where the doctor said he most likely has pneumonia.

There's a terrible bug going around, the clinic ladies said, and it's very hard on the elderly. Glen Yoder, Paul's cute dumpy overalled bachelor cousin-a-few-times-removed, who used to stand placidly out in his front yard by the hour, waving at people driving by, passed away today.

And now Jenny is lying on the couch with her temperature percolating up a degree or so per hour. So I am in that strange sick-house netherworld, where the universe seems to boil down to this place, this room, these children lying miserably on the couches; taking temperatures, bringing drinks, cold cloths on hot foreheads. The rest of the world, of Paul going to work and Rita planning Bible Club and trucks driving down 99 and people in Michigan voting in primaries seems far away and almost unreal.

Quote of the Day:
Emily: How can I make sure I don't get what Ben has?
Me: Eat a teaspoon of fresh garlic every day. I think that's what I'm going to do.
Paul: I think I'll go get a motel room tonight.