- To kick things off, I made sure my son was absolutely thrilled about our flight from snowy Colorado to sunny California the day before Christmas. We were headed to visit his grandparents, and he couldn’t wait to spend time with his dad, me, and his little sister.
- On the plane, I noticed he looked a bit off. I thought, maybe canceling his flu shot appointment a couple of weeks ago wasn’t my best move. But I dismissed my worries—he would be fine!
- We landed on Christmas Eve, and the kids had a blast on the beach. His great aunt and uncle arrived, and he spent time making Christmas cookies with his Nana. He probably licked his fingers and touched everything, which becomes a crucial detail later. After some presents and a little eggnog for me, we tucked the kids into bed, played Santa, and settled in for our long winter’s nap.
- I woke up on Christmas night to the unmistakable sound of vomiting. Both my son and husband had high fevers and were utterly miserable. I spent the entire night fretting, changing sheets, and giving ibuprofen. Thankfully, I had gotten my flu shot, and so had the baby—after all, she was just a baby.
- Christmas Day arrived, but the one person who should’ve been excited about Santa couldn’t have cared less. Nana and Granddad started off okay, but soon they succumbed too. We got distressing text messages that my aunt and uncle, who had visited the day before, were also feeling ill. My son had managed to spread the flu to at least five people! I worried they might trace the virus back to our flight from Colorado. It left just the baby and me, isolated while everyone else lay in sad heaps around the house. The environment felt claustrophobic and germ-ridden, prompting me to start a cleaning frenzy.
- Initially, my cleaning was innocent enough, but soon it became an obsession. I scrubbed every surface with bleach, then whipped up buckets of chicken soup. The baby and I were trapped in a flu-infested petri dish with no one to help us—just two survivors.
- On the third day, my sister called from Minnesota, cheerfully saying, “Oh wow! So sorry we couldn’t make it this year!” She hung up quickly, as if the flu germs might jump through the phone.
- Days dragged on. This flu was epic. It was soup, crackers, checking temperatures, cleaning, and washing soiled laundry. It was all on me. IT. WAS. ALL. ME.
- My family slowly began to recover. My son still had high fevers, so I took him to urgent care that Saturday. We waited for hours only to find out he had a ruptured eardrum and got prescribed antibiotics.
- My mom developed a concerning cough that kept her up at night, so I took her to urgent care the next day. After another long wait, she was diagnosed with bronchitis and also put on antibiotics.
- My son had a reaction to the antibiotics, which led to vomiting and, unfortunately, severe skin irritation. When I saw how skinny he had become, panic set in, and I took him back to urgent care.
- At urgent care, a nurse informed me that both she and another nurse would need to help hold my son down for an antibiotic shot in his backside because it would be quite painful. My poor, frail child cried so hard that he ended up with a bloody nose. At that moment, I’m pretty sure I promised him a pony.
- Finally, after 10 long days—just three days before we were due to head home—my son was able to eat again! We took him to the zoo, the park, and he even got to see some palm trees.
- When he returned to kindergarten, he had to write about his Christmas vacation. His story read: “This Christmas I got sick and had to get a needle in my butt. It was this big————–. And I had a lady lay on me.”
In retrospect, it was a holiday we will never forget, for all the wrong reasons!
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