5849/18869
My worst fears came close to being confirmed last night when I went up to bed and discovered that my wife had caught THE BUG and had just had AN INCIDENT. That in itself was my worst fear. Probably my third worst fear. My second worst fear was my daughter catching the bug and my worst fear was me getting it. As long as it wasn’t me, I didn’t really mind. But if my wife had it, then that increased the likelihood that I would have it. Especially as I had been the one who had an infected walker be sick on me when the first strains of the illness that would ultimately wipe out mankind had been discovered. And I’d been mainly looking after the boy and forgetting he was ill and kissing him on his snotty face. I don’t care. I love him so much that even if he was covered in the plague I would still kiss his cute little face off.
I slept in with the baby and my wife went into quarantine aka our bed. Just as when Ernie had been ill, I started to feel like I was too. My stomach lurched a little. Surely it was only a matter of time.
And when I was woken in the middle of the night, by a little bit of vomit reaching the back of my throat I assumed this was it. I went into the bathroom to see if Vesuvius was about to explode at both ends. If I’d been at the centre of a human Centipede at this point, then I guessed both the other two were going to suffer…. But nothing happened and though I waited a bit for the onslaught of bilious juices and liquidised faeces, I walked away from that toilet a free man. Perhaps within me was some kind of resistance to this disease and if it could be bottled then humanity might yet be saved.
Although I was still expecting a turnaround in my fortunes, I woke up still feeling OK, if somewhat exhausted as Ernie had woken up a lot in the night. Both Phoebe and I were fine, and Ernie seemed to have recovered but Catie was still ill and once again important plans had to be cancelled.
But surely this meant I had dodged the bullet? I was still a bit queasy and run down so maybe not.
And then tonight Phoebe was sick in her bed. She took it all very well and was brave, if confused as I took her bedsheets out to wash and Catie put her in the bath to clean the puke out of her hair… my poor lamb. But at least and most importantly, the most important person in my life, me, was still ostensibly OK. The bug seemed to be taking down one Herring a day. Would it wait until tomorrow to get me? Or would the bug emerge from me like the alien in Alien, but finding routes that had already been created rather than making its own?
I slept through the night. And so far, most importantly, as difficult as it is to see my wife and eldest child in distress, who cares? Cos I am impervious.
You might call this hubris… well let’s see who is sick tomorrow?
