I suppose they will have to come up with a new saying. It just doesn't carry the same connotation anymore.
Earlier this week, a pig flew over our house and dropped a lovely little H1N1 present down upon us. Sarah Beth ran a fever for a few days, and then Jack started coughing. He woke me up early this morning:
Jack: I think I have a fever.
Me: Okay. I'm real sorry.
Jack: Do we have a thermometer?
Me: Yeah, somewhere.
Jack: Will you go get it?
Me: Do you really have to know how high it is? I mean, can't you just take some medicine?
Jack: Will you go get me some medicine?
Being the loving, patient, compassionate wife that I am, I groaned and rolled out of bed, grumbling all the way to the kitchen. I threw some pills at him and got back into bed.
Throughout the morning, his cough worsened and so did his discomfort. I took SB out for a while, to get the bare necessities: cough drops, popsicles and chicken soup. While at Wal Mart, I started feeling a little rotten. By the time I got home from the Wal, my legs and head were aching, and I started feeling a little sorry that I had been so flippant with Jack's early morning complaints.
Jack called Uncle Doctor and described his symptoms, including the throbbing pain, dizziness and trouble seeing that he had attributed to a migraine.
After a brief, over the phone consultation, his uncle delivered the verdict. It's probably swine flu.
Fan freaking tastic.
So I thought I would take a minute and say my goodbyes. Since we probably only have hours left to live.