Depending on your perspective, two weeks ago from Saturday I reached either the nadir or the zenith of my bout of swine flu — I've decided to refer to it as swine flu from here on in, because it sounds so medieval — when my fever climbed to 104 degrees.
I was of no use to anyone, and may actually have been delirious, and by 4pm I was fixated not on my fever, but the fact that by my admittedly irrational standards the house was a mess, we hadn't unpacked from our trip, the sheets needed changing, and I was useless to do anything about it.
David took the kids out so I could sleep, and after stewing in my juices for a bit, I made a very wise decision to call in the big guns, namely, my friends, Cassie and Sharon. Within twenty minutes they were at my house, armed with shop masks, bandannas and gloves, and they cleaned my house. They fetched me medicine, and beverages. They straightened, recycled and dusted, and if that were not enough, they scrubbed my bathroom.
If that's not love, what is?
One thing that multiple bouts of depression and childbirth have taught me is that when help is offered, SAY YES. From there, I sent out a second series of distress signals: SEND FOOD, and from that point forward, my family was well provisioned for the remainder of my illness.
Between that, and my mother providing child care and laundry services while David was at work, I had a domestic army at my service, and it was not only a great relief, but an awesome thing to behold; when women mobilize, they are a force to be reckoned with.
And although he is not a woman, I also have to thank David for holding down the fort in my absence, and for having the wisdom, upon coming home to a SWAT team cleaning his house, having the good sense to be relieved and grateful, rather than defensive.
Pranams to everyone.