Having Christmas on the 21st turned out not so bad after all, it just meant a bit more organization than usual and well – running also helped. As in, really running. As in me running down the street where I live with boxes, bags, panettone or kids in tow on several occasions.(Panettone is a typical Italian Christmas cake)
Unfortunately in the midst of running to get everything done on time, I somehow got the flu. Sunday I woke up with a fever of 38.5°c (101°f), Monday it went to 39.3°c (102°f), and on the real Christmas Day stayed at about 38°f.
Monday with head pounding I tell my husband that I need to go to the hospital. He tells me people do not go to the hospital for a mild flu. He apparently does not notice the state I am in because this is anything but mild. I can’t eat, I can’t sleep, and I finally understand what they mean when they say it hurts to blink because my freaking head is about to self explode.
I manage to get a hold of my mom who tells me exactly what I was thinking. Well sort of, she tells me that I should go to the hospital as soon as possible if my fever goes higher than 39.5°c, then she tells me
“because at 105°f, well… that’s when you kick the bucket.”
I feel grateful to my mother for her wise words, I definitely do not want to kick the bucket. I send my husband to get me more medicine. I am being insupportable, but for some reason I can’t stop myself I feel so miserable. I go to sleep wishing my kids a Merry Christmas and when I wake up this morning and I finally feel better.
My 6-year-old looks at me and says ‘mommy, non sei più sick?’
I say ‘no darling’
Then my son says ‘meno male!’ and this means ‘good thing!’, and I feel a tinge of guilt thinking how useless I’ve been
Then he says ‘ora possiamo cuddelarti!!!’ and this means ‘now we can finally cuddle you!’
And an instant later, I find both of my children with arms wrapped tightly around my neck yelling ‘mommy’s back!!’