The Sky Is Falling, and I'm Just Waiting for Impact

I'm standing outside my home staring carefully at the sky.  I know that a piece of it is falling.  I can see it very clearly.  The outline of the piece that is falling is definable, yet I cannot tell you what shape it is.  I don't move.  I can't.  I just keep staring even though I consciously realize that this mass of falling blue will strike me at any given moment.  I have already tried to outrun the piece of sky, but it follows me as if somehow it is my own center of gravity that it is attracted to.  So, I have accepted my fate.  I am just waiting for impact.

This is what it is like when you are the last person in the house to catch the stomach flu.

This has been my life this week.  We were holding baby Matt Daddy over the toilet late Monday night, and she has been fine since Tuesday evening.  On Wednesday, Mrs. Matt Daddy had to leave work early because of the nasty virus.  It is now Friday, and she is back to work.  Here I am, still staring at the sky, wondering when it is my turn to go.  Literally.  A lot.

I have taken every preventative measure... wait, I have actually taken no preventative measures!  My wife and daughter got their flu shots, but I never did.  So, to avoid getting ill, I let my wife hold the sick baby while I fetched the needed items and threw them to her from a distance.  I try to justify my actions by telling myself that she has paid time off.  If I go down, there is nobody on the bench; there is no on-call worker; no other physician in the practice; heck, there's not even a fun substitute teacher that will let you get away with anything (You were awesome, Mr. Berman!).  Grandma offered to help, but she has enough going on, and I certainly don't want to spread the germs to her place.  In fact, I don't wish this virus on my worst enemy.  This ends here.

I may sound like a terrible husband, but I slept in another room while my wife was sick.  I cared only for her basic needs - toilet paper, Gatorade, water, blankets.  I even made her remove the infected sheets from the bed when she felt better last night.  I probably owe her a date.  Although in my defense, I did put the new sheets on the bed and stocked the house with various items from the BRAT diet.

I have disinfected every surface that could have possibly been tainted.  I have used a Lysol can in flame-thrower fashion, covering every square inch of our home.  We have changed cups, changed clothes, and changed everyone's toothbrushes.  Still, I stare at the sky and wait.  Every burp is released with the utmost caution.  Every fart is let go with a hesitancy that can only be described as an eternity.  The sky is falling, and I am just waiting for impact.