Dear Influenza

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influenza fluDear Influenza,

We need to talk.

This wasn’t supposed to be your year. You visited us last year when the headlines ran rampant with news of your devastation. We were properly aware of you, expected you even. You were still unwelcome, but not a surprise guest.

You snuck in this year. Nobody was talking about you yet here you came, ravaging our 5-year-old. An hour after saying he felt “wonky,” he was bedridden for days. Two weeks you stole, two weeks of school lost, canceled playdates and practices and sanity. Two weeks of “DON’T TOUCH THE BABY!”

And the Tamiflu. My goodness, the Tamiflu. Every calorie we fought to get in his body came roaring back out with each teaspoon he attempted.

Then there was the email of shame from his school: “Dear parents, a student in your child’s class has tested positive for Influenza A.” I wanted to reply all and say It’s not our fault! We did everything right! We had the flu shot, we disinfect regularly, our hand-washing is legendary!

You did that to me. You made me doubt our germ defense system.

But the worst was the idea of you, especially with an infant in the house. Who would you attack next? How long would our hospital stay be? Would we ever see daylight again? Should we buy stock in Lysol?

It was my husband who fell. You toppled my partner. Brought him down with a weeklong fever and necessary quarantine.  

And just when you started to fade away, the day we finally sent our son back to school, his sister started a fever.

That was really low.

Well, that one turned out not to be your fault. But because you’d been with us, she suffered the stress of a flu test, an industrial-sized q-tip jammed up her nostril.  

Thank you for that.

You seem to be gone now, though I suspect that saying such a thing might prompt your return to those of us you left behind.

Even if you don’t, we’ll still see evidence of your presence in our water bill (“Did he breathe on that?? Put it in the washing machine!”), the electric bill (“Why is it so cold in here?!”), and the empty boxes of Motrin in our recycling bin.  

Lastly, you’ve once again reminded me that mine is not the disposition of a Mary Poppins mastermom, sunnily dishing out sugar with the medicine, but instead an Eeyore-esque doomsdayer determined to make the worst of it.

How dare you.

Spring is coming. Your reign will soon be over. But we’ll always remember the time you came to stay.  

Please don’t come again.

Sincerely,

Mom

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