My hands are starting to crack. I put hand sanitizer on them this morning and felt like I'd just poured salt in a gaping wound. If I didn't know better, I'd say I've caught Dylan's Eczema on the backs of my hands. The redness is gripping.
Water, soap, scrub, rinse. Water, soap, scrub, rinse. I've done this over fifty times a day since Monday morning, and it's taking it's toll. And, yes, I've lotioned up, but my hands are taking a beating. I have thought, as I can feel my skin disintegrating, about people with OCD that HAVE to wash their hands hundreds of times. It must be so painful! And then I say, "just two weeks."
We have been struck and the ripple has yet to occur. Monday morning, the very second I walked into work, my phone rang. Preschool. Any Momma with kids in school know that a call from them is NEVER a good sign. It's something to be dreaded. And dread I did. He'd thrown up. All over the table. He was sick. So without even taking off my coat, I turned around and high-tailed it back to preschool to pick up my sick and ailing child.
He never threw up again. He had two bouts of the yucky poops that day. And one at 4:30 in the morning.....all over his sheets. I told him it was okay. He was sick. He said, "Yeah, it's the sickness's fault, not mine. My white blood cells are fighting." Yes, yes, they are. And doing a damn good job.
He stayed home yesterday....they don't like poopies at preschool either. But he was fine. He slept more than usual (not much more). He ate just fine both days. He never ran a fever and never wanted to lay on the couch snuggling. His white blood cells were kicking butt.
Because that's how Ethan rolls.
But that doesn't mean we all take it in stride like my oldest. He is notorious for having a relatively mild illness that hits us like a freight train. And so I've become incredibly cautious. The Lysol comes out. The soap dispensers are checked. Sanitizer is available. Hand washing takes on a life of it's own. Every thing he touches makes me cringe and it's just one more time I have to wash my hands....because he's touched it all and I can't follow him around with a can of Lysol.
The goal? Make it till Thursday. If I can make it through Thursday, then I should be in the clear. Until then, I'm scrubbing the skin right off my knuckles. I'm eating nothing but oatmeal and soup. I'm taking a probiotic and elderberry juice. I'm keeping Dylan AWAY from his brother who seems intent on getting in his face. I'm avoiding the slightest touch from my husband, who is much less cautious than I am and usually comes down with whatever illness crosses the threshold. I'm being diligent, and I'm hoping it pays off. Because there's little I dread more than throwing up uncontrollably for hours! Other than having to nurse a baby between it all!