Many years ago when the four boys were little, we were hit by the Chicken Pox virus. The only one out of the six of us who had ever had it before was my husband.
Jonathan was going to “Mother's Day Out” and came home one day running fever. The rash followed. Being a very young mom, I was at a loss. So, I took an old low coffee table and placed a foam top that had gone on a portable baby napper that had been given to me for the toddling twins but had never used. I wrapped it in a small sheet and deemed it the sick bed to keep him up front and away from the others until I could figure out how to deal with what was hitting our tiny apartment.
I called it the sick bed and told our little Nonny that was his new spot until we could get him better. After a week of battling the virus he bounced back pretty quickly and his older brother in kindergarten took over the new sick spot. By the time he had healed in the sick bed, the toddling twins and I were laid out in the small living room and my husband had to take off work to handle what went from the "sick bed" to the Chicken Pox sick quarters.
Eventually, after a solid month we were all virus free but the tradition of the "sick bed" stuck. One day Jonathan came home from school exhausted. He was in elementary school, and we were then living in Barker's Corner where we still live to this day. He plopped down his book sack and wiped his forehead and said, "I think I need the sick bed!" Instead he got his favorite dinner and an early bedtime because by then we all understood the "sick bed" meant I am done.
After time passed, telling the boys they were going to hit the sick bed meant snuggling up in fresh sheets and taking the day off while the brothers traipsed off to school. It took me a couple of times before I realized our then third grader Caleb requested the sick bed every time the latest Harry Potter book was released. And being the literacy nerd I am, I kind of found that to be a great reason to take a mental health day as I played along with his illness.
These old stories came to mind over the weekend as I was laid up in bed with Influenza Type A. I have been battling the crud for weeks now and out of nowhere took a terrible turn south with high fever and tremendous pain all over. I was able to drag myself to a walk-in clinic after already diagnosing myself the way Mom's do. I slouched in and told the PA I needed some antibiotics for a sinus infection.
Several swabs latter I was sent home to a week of bedrest and packs of medicine for what would continue to spiral until my immune system could play catch up. I can now sit up in my sick bed and write this on my laptop. It seems the flu shot in fall no longer works in the spring. And the flu season has reared its ugly head now at a different time of year with cases on the rise.
But that is not my greatest message in this column. And I am sure many mothers out there have already figured this out. That early homemade sick bed later became just a symbol in our family communicating that it was time to take a break. Moms are the overseers of such matters until Moms exhaust their resources and they are telling the family to move over and make a space. In true confession, I am the worst at this, but I know I am not alone. I have watched it over and over throughout my years. If we don't take care of ourselves we are no use to our loved ones.
So here's to my fellow Grandma neighbor who was quick to deliver fresh oranges and chicken noodle soup. Most moms get this, but let this still be a lesson learned. We super moms need to hang up the cape before it is snatched away and off to the sick bed we go.
