Turns out, I did have the stomach virus. Turns out Aquaman did too. In fact, we started vomiting at precisely the same time. And for whatever reason...which I have analyzed and analyzed again since that moment...I couldn't actually stop vomiting. 13 times in 3 hours.
Only problem with that was, I couldn't really even walk by this point, and I was still home with all the kids by myself. I told myself I would just wait until JT got home, and then maybe JT could take The Dude to the emergency room, and maybe I could handle the other 2 on my own.
Then JT walked in the door. I said hello, and then promptly threw up in the trash can,
I told him that The Dude needed to go to the ER. He told me he was sick too, and we ALL needed to go to the ER.So we did, all 5 of us, because we have been needing some family time.
I somehow managed to stand up long enough to grab the insurance cards and some frozen milk for the baby, who was getting tired of trying to nurse when nothing was coming out.
The Dude threw up in his carseat on the way there, yelling "stop it!!" while he gagged. Aquman cried repeatedly about how thirsty he was, as if we were all personally responsible for that. I moaned a lot, because everything hurt.
When we got there, I had to kneel down to fill out the registration cards, and then someone brought me a wheelchair. Aquaman demanded over and over in a loud voice during our 45 minute waiting room wait: "why won't anyone HELP us, we need WATER! I feel like I'm dead!" The only time he quieted down was when he was throwing up some more. JT was trying to help everyone. Trying to track down water. He forgot his emesis basin during one of his voyages, and puked all over the floor. I scooted my wheelchair as far away as I could from the smell. JT dutifully took off his shirt and started cleaning it up until the triage nurses stopped him. The Dude, usually wild and energetic, was so tired and dehydrated that he fell asleep face down on an ER chair. Greystoke tried to collect more germs to pass on to us, sucking on the wheelchair and laughing hysterically at the fun we were having.
At some point, maybe after the first time I vomited blood, I started moaning "Help", because it just seemed right.
Eventually they called us back. Greystoke clapped his hands in my lap, thrilled with the wheelchair ride. The very kind nurse moved us from separate rooms into the same room, and pushed our beds together. Within 15 minutes of the Zofran push and some liquids dripping into my veins, I stopped moaning for someone to help me, though it took JT longer. His word of choice was "no!" which he interjected intermittently from his heap in the bed.
We're better, it's been 10 days now. I highly doubt we'll all ever get that sick at the same time ever again.
But this week, the words in my heart have been from Psalm 84.
I'm disorganized and a lot of times I feel inadequate as a mother.
I throw up a lot. I end up in a wheelchair calling for help.
For the Lord God is a sun and a shield; the Lord bestows favor and honor; no good thing does He withhold from those whose walk is blameless."
He shot life giving fluids right into our arms last week, and this week, He has drenched our thirsty ground with rain and sloppiest of puddles, and the jolliest of puddle walks.
He's been my sun and my shield.
I don't feel blameless. Not by a long shot. My rows and rows of failures line up to overshadow the joy of my heart sometimes.
But when He looks at me, He looks with me in mercy.
Accepted. New. Free.