Garlic Bread for Flu?

A few weeks ago, or maybe it was last week, Grace came down with something.

She texted on the weekend that she wasn't feeling well, and she spent time resting.  She confided that Jack, her boyfriend, teased her for having a "man cold," which I think meant she was exaggerating how sick she was. 

She didn't go to work on Monday, still feeling sick, and she called me on Tuesday morning to get my opinion on whether she should go to work. 

I'm pretty much a suck-it-up Midwesterner. How many days of work can you miss?

"Maybe you should try to work half a day," I suggested. 

She called her boss and offered to come in for half a day. He told her to take the whole day. 

On Wednesday, she went to work and texted to ask if she could come over to do laundry since the dryer at the apartment laundry room wasn't working. 

When I got home that evening, Grace had her second load of wash going. She gave me a  hug, and I pressed my cheek against hers. 

"You feel warm," I said. 

Pulling a thermometer out of the cabinet, I gave it to her, and it beeped along until reaching its end. 

103 degrees. 

I immediately felt guilty for suggesting Grace shouldn't miss work. How was she even standing, doing laundry with a 103-degree fever?

Earl and I finished the laundry for her. 

Jack stopped by after work to take Grace and her neatly-folded clothes back home. 

The next day she went to the doctor who diagnosed the flu and told her not to be around people until she'd been free of a fever for 24 hours.  

And, as if on schedule, Jack began to show symptoms of the flu the next day. 

By Friday, they were both home sick, Grace claiming that Jack was delirious with his fever and had apologized profusely for thinking she dramatized her illness. 

As I left work on Friday, I asked Grace what I could take her. I offered chicken soup.

Then I searched online to see what food helped with the flu. I headed to the grocery store  and stocked up on ginger ale, Popsicles, tissues, juice, bananas and garlic bread. Who knew that garlic and bananas were good for the flu? 

Then I swung by Noodles & Company to get chicken noodle soup. 

When I dropped off the goodies, the two of them looked dazed. I avoided kisses and, hopefully, the flu. 

A few more days and Grace was finally on the mend. Thank goodness. Let's hope she can avoid any major illnesses for another year or so. 

Ever since she got mono three years ago, she seems to be more susceptible to getting sick.  Hope this is it for the year. 

Getting Over Illness

Where do you come down on the idea of exercising when you're sick?
If I feel myself coming down with something, I force myself to exercise, thinking that it will help fend it off.
Since I exercise most days, I hate to miss.
Monday night, I was so sick that exercise of any kind was not an option, but my fever broke around 4 a.m. and I felt so much better immediately.
So when my friend Sheila texted to ask if I wanted to go on a walk, I did.
We walked about two and a half miles and we didn't go very fast. We stopped at Starbucks, and I had some peppermint added to my mocha to help clear out my sinuses.
We decided that walking, which gets the lymph system going, was a good idea while sick.
Last night, on my way home from teaching, I convinced my husband to meet me at a nearby bar for a hot toddy.
When I asked for it, the young bar tender looked at me blankly. "What's in it?" he asked.

I said, "brandy, honey, lemon."
He stopped me and said they didn't have brandy.
"I'll look it up," I told the bar tender. So I searched on my phone and came up with a recipe.
Whiskey, honey, lemon, ginger. "And can you make it hot?" I asked him. He seemed stumped again, but then said he would add some hot water to it to make it hot.

And, it did the job. Before I even had a sip, I breathed it in through my mouth and felt the whiskey and ginger making a difference.
My sinuses were clear all the way home, but unfortunately it didn't last.
So after another sleepless night of coughing and sneezing and sniffling, I waited until 6 a.m. to text Sheila. We walked more than three miles this morning, again at a slow pace and with coffee.
Luckily, I was able to find a sub for three of my classes so I can have a calm morning, but I still have to teach this afternoon and again this evening.

Empty Nest

Is it really an empty nest if the baby birds keep tweeting the mama bird?
Although my kids are all gone to college, I hear from them all most everyday. Sometimes they're sharing happy things; sometimes they're complaining; sometimes they're asking for help.
Being home, just me and Earl, certainly doesn't bother me. We're eating whatever and whenever we want. They range from sophisticated adult meals to quick singles food. Salmon burgers and asparagus, brie and raspberry jam, wine, cereal, French toast, pot pies.
We're scheduled to start dance class in a few weeks, and we're spending time with friends, seeing movies.
Still it isn't all smooth sailing.
Tucker got sick the week before he moved to college, and we've been trying to deal with that long distance. First his jaw became sore and swollen where he had his wisdom teeth out in July. The dentist put him on a strong antibiotic.
Then he started dealing with episodes of racing heart, sweating, feeling faint. The possibilities with those symptoms are many.

Tucker on the left with his roommate.

So he went off to school two weeks ago, and he started to feel worse. He became extremely tired. He felt like he was going to pass out when he climbed the stairs to class. He could hardly keep his eyes open during class.
He took the bus home last Thursday evening so he could see the doctor Friday morning then I drove him back to school in time for his Italian class.
But the doctor didn't test him for mono, which I think should always be the first test with tired college students. I wasn't at the appointment, but the doctor debated things like low blood sugar, thyroid, anxiety. Nothing firm was decided, which is the frustrating part. So we just sent him back to school to continue living and going to classes. I wonder if he feels deserted.
This week he called and said his jaw was swollen again. I guess he didn't take his antibiotics the way he was supposed to, even after I warned him about superbacteria and the need to keep the antibiotics in his system.
Now, after two weeks in school, he texted today and asked if he could take a year off from school.
Gulp.
My knee-jerk reaction is, "No! Stay at school." But I've dealt with rough starts before. I know to keep stringing him along week by week until he gets to the end of the semester, like a kitten chasing yarn.
When he called, here were his arguments:
He isn't sure what he wants to do, so his major is undecided.
It feels a lot more like high school than he thought it would.
He just thinks he'd rather get a job and get his own apartment for a year.
I listened to his reasons and then suggested he give it another week and we re-evaluate next Friday.

Spencer in his new dorm room.

I wonder if the girlfriend here at home has anything to do with the wish to come home. And, of course, I'm afraid if he doesn't stick with it that he'll never finish college.
The good news is that Spencer transferred colleges, and he is only an hour and  half away from home. And he's really in his element. His only difficulty so far is the calculus professor who has
such a thick accent Spencer can't understand him. Spencer wrote down the notes the professor put on the board and took them to the math tutor. The math tutor couldn't decipher them either.
One of his fellow students stopped Spencer and thanked him for asking questions in class. Spencer says he tries to repeat back to the professor what he says in hopes that the professor will clarify. It sounds like Spencer is doing all the right things to be successful.
Grace is enjoying her final semester of college. She's living in a house near campus with three theater friends. She's auditioning for shows and spending time with friends.
She has come home the past few weekends, so our nest isn't empty on the weekend, but it's more like a girlfriend sleepover when Grace is here rather than having kids I have to take care of.
So, yes, my nest is technically empty, but my plate is still definitely full.

Birthday Do Over

I'm claiming a birthday do over. If you've ever been around elementary-aged kids, a "do over" means you get to do it again.
I think a birthday doesn't really count if I don't get to start it with a run.
I tried to go for a run, but I was up several times during the night coughing, and I knew it was a bad idea to try to run.
Almost as soon as I started to run, I felt that itching, tightness in my throat at the top of my chest. I thought I would walk instead, but since I felt light headed, I turned around and headed back home.
I made myself a cappuccino and watched the episode of About a Boy that I recorded from Saturday night.
Tonight is the swim banquet, which I can't miss because it is Tucker's senior year and he'll get a bunch of awards.
We have planned to go out for lunch or brunch somewhere, even though I'm not really hungry and can't land on a place to think, "that sounds delicious!"
But, we're going to pick up Grace and go out for a meal the four of us.
I think I'll declare Thursday as my birthday do over. By then, I should be well enough to go for a run. Then I'll schedule a facial with the birthday money from my wonderful parents.
So today's my official birthday, but I plan to celebrate later in the week.

Son Departure

Those of you who follow me on Facebook or who read my blog yesterday know that I'm in Florida, but what you don't know if that this trip almost didn't happen.

Spencer and I had plane tickets to fly from Ohio to Florida on Saturday morning.

At 5:50 a.m., I received a text from Spencer that he was throwing up. Doesn't matter if you 5 or 20, apparently you still want your mom when you're sick. 

I trundled down the stairs with a glass of water and tucked him back into bed, hoping that it was just a fluke, a one-time thing. But less than an hour later I heard him throwing up again. He continued to throw up all morning as the clock ticked toward time for us to leave for the airport.

We were flying on a small airline that only has two flights per week from Columbus to Florida. If we didn't make the Saturday plane, he couldn't get back to school by the time classes started on Monday.

Earl suggested we should simply drive down to Florida on Sunday when Spencer was better. So I resigned myself. Then Spencer rallied and we journeyed to the airport. 

By this time, Spencer's stomach issues had migrated south as well. 

As we climbed on the plane, I asked the flight attendant if we could sit in the back row by the bathrooms. She doubled up some trash bags and handed them to Spencer.

The flight took less than two hours and when the fasten seat belt lights were off, Spence mostly stayed in the bathroom. 

The plane coming in to land over Tampa Bay and the Bayside Bridge that stretches from Clearwater to Tampa

We landed and Spencer lay day on a concrete bench in front of the airport while I went in search of our rental car. Poor guy. Even at 6-foot, 4-inches, he's my baby. I felt so bad for him.

As we drove the 10-miles from the airport to his college, he clutched the plastic bags and heaved into them. When we got into his room, he promptly climbed into bed. I went shopping for groceries and made a couple of trips from the car to his room. I broke my New Year resolution by using plastic grocery bags. I just didn't plan ahead and bring bags with me for shopping in Florida. I even looked at the Walmart for cloth bags to buy, but no luck. (I usually avoid Walmart but make an exception only when dropping kids at college.) Hopefully, Spencer will feel like eating some of those groceries again soon.

I felt bad leaving him there in bed. His head felt warm, like he maybe had a fever, but he said he was feeling better and just needed sleep. Hope he got some.The last time I went to the dorm and had to force him to open the door for me, I snapped this picture of him. I told  him, open your eyes, so he did, and then he stumbled back to bed. I, however, drove to my parents house and am basking in the sun now.

Here are a couple of photos from my morning run. Hope you all have something equally inspiring in your days today. 

Teenage Maladies

This morning, while it was still dark, I walked into my son's bedroom laden with medicines.
Ibuprofen for the pain. A huge pink antibiotic. A bottle of "magic mouthwash" for throat pain. A bottle of cough syrup laced with codeine and decongestant.
Spencer has been sick since Saturday. Sick sick.
He went with some friends to spend the weekend at Ohio University. OU is known across the nation for it's parties, but Spencer did not get to enjoy the parties. He got sick right away. He sat on a couch, half conscious until one of the OU boys took pity on him and walked him back to the dorm room. He slept on the futon in a sweaty fever and arrived back home the next morning.
We doused him with ibuprofen and Sudafed and sent him to bed. We thought it was a cold.
He got progressively worse through the day. We decided he might have the flu. His whole body hurt. When he was awake, he bemoaned that he couldn't live like this. He's not prone to drama, so I planned to take him to the doctor on Monday, but I didn't count on Martin Luther King Jr. Day. The doctor's office was closed.
I knew that he could take Tamiflu to shorten the flu if I could get him in within 48 hours. The pharmacist encouraged me to call the emergency number at the doctor. "That's what they're there for," she said.
So I called and one of the doctors would be in the office for a couple of hours. I took Spence in.
He was so miserable. All he had done was sleep for two days. He sat in the office with his head in his hands, his skin a chalky color, his breathing through his mouth shallow.
The doctor was one we hadn't seen before. She commented on his swollen lymph nodes and checked his liver. She wouldn't give him Tamiflu without a flu test.
Have you had a flu test? It involves a cotton swab on the end of a 7-inch long stick. The swab goes up and up into the nostril. It ended with a nose bleed for Spencer.
"Just a virus," the doctor said. Then she gave us a blood test for mononucleosis the next day and sent us on our way.
Spence just moaned.
An hour later, the doctor's office called. Spence had a check up the Wednesday before and our regular doctor had checked him for strep, but the rapid test came back negative. After we left the office, the doctor checked the follow-up strep test. Yep, it was positive.
So he's been on antibiotics since Monday and he's starting to believe that he might make it through. Yesterday, he managed to sit up and play Xbox for a little while. He even managed to yell at the TV a few times.
I think he's on the road to recovery. He'd better be. It's back to college next week.

Nana

Nearly a month ago, my grandmother suffered a stroke. We didn't find out about the stroke until a couple of days afterward. She was moved to a rehab center fairly quickly. My brother Kevin and I planned to visit on that Friday. Then a snow storm cancelled our driving plans.
We talked about other days we could visit, swimming and basketball schedules interrupting our plans. Illnesses and dance recitals interfering.
This week, I learned our grandmother had contracted pnuemonia in the rehab center. I begged off a staff meeting on Thursday afternoon, went to teach Thursday morning at 7:30 a.m. then hit the highway headed south. I drove four hours to the little town of Mt. Vernon, Kentucky, where she lives.
Nothing prepared me to see my lively Nana in a hospital bed struggling for each breathe. She told me I shouldn't have driven all that way. We talked about cousins and relatives. After about 15 minutes, she said she was going to rest.
I told her I'd be back later. When I got to the car, I called my parents in Florida and suggested they head north.
My uncle and aunt who live in Kentucky were both home with the flu, which they caught at the rehab center. I called my uncle and he asked whether my grandmother recognized me.
"Of course," I said. That meant she was better than she had been. She didn't seem better to me, but I hadn't been there every day to watch her progress or regress. I took some soup to my cousin's house, since my aunt and uncle were too sick to want it. I hung out for a bit then went back to see Nana.
Standing at the hospital bed, talking about whether she would improve, was awkward.
"I told Grace we would visit when she gets home from school," I said to my grandmother, willing her to hold on since Grace is 10 hours away from home.
She said she wanted to hold on, but she was miserable.
"Are you miserable because you hurt or because you can't do things for yourself?" I asked.
She confirmed that she hated to be waited on. Her mouth was dry but she wasn't allowed to have water because they were afraid she would aspirate it. I offered to read to her from the Bible, but she said she couldn't pay attention. She had the important parts memorized anyway.
I mentioned our childhood visits.
"You all always had a big time," she said. That's how she talks. A "big time."

Here she is with all of her great-granddaughters.

Nana married my grandfather when she was 16 and he was 28. He said he wanted a bride that he could raise the way he wanted. I think she ended up being more of a handful than he suspected. She had three children by the time she was 20.
She ran a store in the country and worked at the post office. She knew everyone in her small town.
I love the stories she used to tell. My favorite was the horse that got caught in quicksand, or maybe it was the horse that ran away with her. I might be melding the stories together. In Kentucky, in Rockcastle County, time didn't progress as fast as it did in other parts of the world. That's why my grandmother could go get a permanent for her hair, but had to ride a horse to get to the beauty shop. I think that was the time she was riding home from getting a permanent that the horse became mired in quicksand. She climbed over the horse's neck to get to dry land then pulled him out.
Another time she would tell the story about the horse running away with her, "and me just a skinny, little thing holding onto the horse's neck."
My grandfather died in the 1980s and in 1989, Nana met and married Grandad Ish. Grandad Ish took her away from Kentucky to winter in Arizona and to vacation in Peru. He opened up the world for her and he thought she was the cat's meow.
She survived him too. But she has been well loved by her three children, eight grandchildren, and 12 greatgrandchildren. As my kids have gotten older, we don't go to Kentucky as much. They all have busy teenage and young adult lives now, but I bet they look back on their times at Nana's house with a smile, just like I do. I wrote about some of those adventures when we visited last May, which you can read here: Nana.
Before I left the hospital, I leaned over the bed and kissed Nana's lined, papery cheek and slipped my hand under her bony shoulder to hug her. She raised up her right arm, unaffected by the stroke, but now taped with tubes at the hospital, and patted me, hugging me.
"I love you, Nana," I said as I left. Her pale blue eyes smiled at me, but looked a little sad and resigned too.
The doctor let my parents know today that Nana has taken a turn for the worse. I'm glad I got to see her yesterday, while we could talk, but I know that my memories of Nana are not made from that one visit. My memories of Nana are made up from a lifetime of hugs and laughs and scoldings. Every bite of fried chicken, every UK basketball game on TV, every clip on earring pilfered from her jewelry box, every bottle full of jewel-colored water that sparkled in the sun, will remind me of the things my grandmother gave me in a lifetime. It's not the last few minute spent with someone we love, but the lifetime of minutes that we spend together.

Going Backward

This morning when I walked outside at 6:30, either I had a hot flash, a cold sweat and fever, or it is just incredibly hot and humid outside.
Any of those seem plausible, although I haven't yet had hot flashes, but I have been sick the past couple of days.
The heat and the illness combined with a new "eating plan" are what set me back this morning as I attempted to go for a run that felt like an uphill climb the whole way. I literally was too weak to run very far. I thought about turning back and coming home. Then I determined to run a block and walk a block throughout my whole route.
It felt humbling to go from running 9 miles a few weeks ago to running blocks at a time. Sometimes I would run two blocks then walk a block. As I was on my way back from my 3.5 mile route, in one of my walking blocks, a guy in a Jeep pulled up next to me.
"I saw you running tired. Want some water?" He held out a small bottle.
"No, thanks," I said. "Almost home."
(See, Earl. I'm not paranoid that people pay attention in our little burg whether I'm walking or slacking off.)
My friend Dream Girl claims that you never regret going for a run.
I'm not sure I feel grateful that I went for a run/walk, but I am glad that it's over for today.