I miss my Mommy.
Ok, I know I’m a grown woman with children of my own, but when I’m sick, I really miss my own mom. Fortunately I don’t get sick very often. And when I do, I’m one of those people who doesn’t notice that they’re sick until they’re nearly dead. Doctors hate people like me.
“So how long have you been feeling this way?”
“What way? Oh THAT! Ummm, I can’t remember how long that’s been going on. Maybe a week, maybe a month?”
When it comes to my own health, I’m very dismissive. I seriously use the advice, “just drink a glass of water” for nearly every complaint known to man-kind. Someday they will discover that water cures cancer, I’m sure of it. My kids hate it when I say that.
“Mom, I almost cut my finger off with a rusty piece of metal I found in the street.”
“Oh you’ll be fine, just drink a glass of water.”
Last summer I was so sick. I don’t remember when I started feeling sick, but I do know that we had a team here. That means I’m pulled in a million different directions all day, every day for 10-12 days. I am the back up system. I run errands, drive secondary vehicles, make meals, manage the logistics of moving people and equipment around. I am “there for” my kids by maintaining their daily routines as much as possible. I am “there for” my husband like the best personal assistant a missionary could ask for. I am “there for” the team, always ready to handle any emergency and crisis… just please don’t ask me to preach in Spanish on the spur of the moment when the preacher doesn’t show. I’ll flat out say NO! So being sick during team season put a huge wrench in our well oiled machine.
I was out of commission. Josh would call and ask me to bring something out to so-and-so for the such and such event. I would drag myself out off of my death bed, run the errand, and collapse. Finally at day 7 of vomiting and the “other stuff”, body aches and fever, I went to the doctor.
She googled my symptoms… guess that’s why we pay her the big bucks, she has internet. And she concluded that I either had Dengue Fever or Rotivirus. She send me to the lab. After waiting until I had feverishly sweated through the vinyl couch I was sitting on, I was called into the cubicle to give my blood samples. I was too dehydrated. They poked and prodded my veins until I was black and blue… no exaggeration. I looked like I had been mauled by a vampire. But they finally got a vial’s worth out of me and sent me home. I stopped in the bathroom on my way out and threw up again, just for revenge.
Two days later, I woke up perfectly fine. Very weak, but not sick anymore. I called the doctor to tell her “never mind” about the hideous tropical virus thingy, I was going to pull through.
I was fine. But I missed my mom so badly when I was sick. I wasn’t sure if I just wanted someone to take care of my children and make them meals while I lay sick in bed, or if I really needed someone to lovingly cool my forehead with a wet wash cloth and bring me another glass of water. I don’t know, but moms have that magic touch and just having your mom near you makes everything that much better. Now I am the magical mommy that kisses away boo-boos and owies and cools fevered brows. I am the mommy with the magic touch.
Just because I felt like this guy… “I don’t want to go on the cart! I’m not dead yet.” Monty Python and the Search for the Holy Grail: Bring out yer dead!