We’d had such a healthy streak, I should have seen it coming.
So healthy, that the pediatrician had to remind me to bring the kids in for their physicals.
So long, that the nurse reminded with me upon arrival with three kiddos at their wellness checkups, that I’d started out my stint as a mother practically camping out in their office. With everything running the gamut from hand foot and mouth, to ear infections and freak accidents…. we kept them open in their weekend hours, too. Then I ended my career at a high right before we moved a decade later as a veteran. Well-versed in the game of motherhood with them not seeing us for an entire year. They were secretly wondering if we’d ditched modern medicine.
We’d just stayed well for that long.
I’d like to say I’ve paid my dues in the world of vomit buckets and thermometers and long sleepless nights tending to little patients. Jamin and I had plenty of times where we passed each other in the hallway from one bedroom to the next, handling the aftershocks and damage control and eruptions like champs… high-fiving each other like zombies in between. Tandem loads of laundry with mattresses pulled to the center of the house for Disney Channel-athons waiting on the next big eruption, was how we rolled. I have my battle wounds and the best vom story whenever parents gather to share their horrors around the campfire of crazy experiences. This was a well-earned hiatus.
But in the world of all things sickness and paying the pied piper {hello karma}… I was disgustingly overdue. If this was a game of dodgeball, I was about to be tagged for a good timeout with a smack in the face. Right back to reality. It’s like a life rule, or something.
“Thou shalt never be too comfortable or confident. Thou shalt be humbled profusely when thou are mucheth overdue.” – The Mother’s Handbook to Reality and General Adulting
Not getting sick, is kind of my super power. I have my own things like the occasional sinus episode, but I’ve never had the chicken pox and that my dear friends, is an important claim to fame. {::Takes reward cookie. Bows to slow clap applause::}
So my entire family comes down with say, strep throat… and I’m left to take care of them. Which is fine because they’re to that age where I’m all, looking for shameless opportunities in the form of “being a caregiver” and “comforting them” where I win because snuggles {the golden age of absolute bliss with kids 7-10 makes them hard to come by nowadays}.
But I’m basically the patron saint of wellness, and then downright martyrdom when Jamin catches it, too. And he always catches it. It’s like adding exhaustion and another kid when the hubs catches it. I’m {admittedly} the worlds worst nurse when it comes to man flu and spousal support, so touché. And when he’s sick, it legit sounds like he’s strangling a small pony in the bathroom. Bless it. If I can hang in there for two days, smack a blue ribbon on my sleeve and call me Mother Teresa.
It had been one of those weeks in our house. Or should I say, tiny two-bedroom apartment. In the middle of relocating, right after our move, we encountered a demon of a virus. We’d known we were in trouble at a friends house when their sweet kiddo began the whole sick-at-his-stomach thing. At first we {stupidly} hoped he’d just been running around too much. But after the second round we quickly dismissed ourselves to get out of their hair and wished them luck. And knew our fate was probably sealed.
Life. It happens.
Three days later, just when we thought we were in the clear, it started with Jamin. Which was weird, because all our other friends present that night had already acquired/were in the throes of said virus. So we literally thought there were rules and we were clear. And what shall henceforth be known as the Mutant Killer Alien Bubonic Plague from Hell, hit our family full-on. One by one like a good round of Jenga, they toppled and fell. I have to say, my biggest complaint was the obnoxious timing. There should be some rule that if your entire fam is going to catch it, it needs to be all at once. We thought we were in the clear, and then two to three days later with no predictability, another one would bite the dust. This was the worst kind of virus, too. Think of the all things explosive, and we had it. The kind that makes you worry. Until a day later they were bounding back because kids do that.
Ahhh motherhood. Knocking people on their tahonkas with well placed rounds of humble pie since well, Eve.
Thanks, Eve. You suck.
I’d spent the last nine days caring and nursing and cleaning and laundering and strategically trying everything within my power to sustain the rest of the family like a freak. We all know it’s pointless and the second the first victim falls, we should just all go lick their toothbrush to get it over with. All the while, there I was, in the clear. Symptomless. For nineish days. Good to go. It’s how I roll. Also, I’m sure I’ve slowly poisoned myself with clorox so there’s that.
I mean, I’d been exposed a week and a half earlier. So the rational {not a doctor} me said if I was going to get it, after caring for everyone and being doused in projectile bodily fluids myself… I was clearly fine. I never get sick. I’d scheduled a hair appointment a few weeks before, one block over from the apartment complex where we were staying, because root rot. And because sanity. So I really needed to squeeze it in.
That’s a nice way of saying Mama was going to lose her everlovingremainingremnantsofsanity and go absolutely batcrapcray if she didn’t catch a break.
Before you come after me with your angry mob, never-had-this-happen-to-you-before torches, let me say I’m super diligent. {So no judging, because karma.} I’m the one with the hand sanitizer and hazmat suits. The one who keeps her kids inside if there’s even a fraction of a fraction of a chance we could spread something. We will survive the zombie apocalypse because we’re ridiculously thorough. {Unless its this virus that starts it all, never mind because we’re totally screwed.}
Call me selfish. Call me completely ignorant. I had no idea I should have quarantined myself for say, another two measly hours. Who knew.
Because I went in to that appointment. And there I was, sitting in the chair, with the full on smock, getting my highlights-lowlights groove on. So proud of myself. “Self,” I noted, citing what we’d been through the past 1.5 week, “We did good. Everything’s going to be okay because highlights make everything better.” There I was, happy as a lark, talking about all things life with my new found bestie, the stylist who took one for the team and did my hair. The sweet, unsuspecting gal, chatted on mid-story, oblivious to the sudden winds of change.
Because I think you know where I’m going with this story.
An old photo of Emerson having her hair washed. Her favorite thing. Since I have nothing to document this horribly scarring event.
I, on the other hand, had out of absolutely nowhere broken out into a cold sweat. The pep talk had faded, and there I was heart pounding, fighting the urge to do…I don’t know what. The end from which Mt. Vesuvius might erupt, is a great mystery. And there I was, suddenly writhing in agony. This was like some twisted game of let’s-humiliate-myself-in-public. And the prize was escaping unscathed. My pounding heart from pure panic was worsening the situation. Because I was legit trapped.
I wanted to find their bathroom and lay in the fetal position. For what it’s worth, only desperation would lead me to lie on the floor of a public restroom. There isn’t a worse feeling in the world.
The color had drained from my face. The sweat trickled down underneath the cape of death I wore. And I thought… this is it. This is how it ends. I was about to explode from both ends and simultaneously implode or something as a result. I don’t know what would happen because I suck at physics, but I was pretty sure at this point it would make the headlines “Woman Dies in Salon Chair After Disgusting Implosion”. And it would show people in hazmat suits entering and leaving the salon for people to read from their Facebook sidebar right before they check in on the weather and wish their friends they haven’t seen since high school happy birthday.
I became acutely aware of my surroundings and the best escape route. I needed to move. And now. It was coming in waves.
“Hey,” I interrupted out of nowhere, awkwardly changing the tone of our chatty conversation as I shifted uncomfortably in my seat “I’m so sorry, but how much longer do you think it might be?”
She was placing the last few foils in my hair. I needed to move. Now. “Um, it should only be a few more foils.” Never in the history of ever have foils. Taken so long. To be placed.
One one thousand… two one thousand… or mississippi or whatever you’re supposed to do to count and stay calm. Because at this point, I didn’t know if it was my full blown paranoia, or the virus that had hit, and my anxiety over the entire situation of being completely trapped in that chair wasn’t making it any better. I had it somewhere in my brain that my heart was pumping the virus faster through my body so I was pretty much screwed because anxiety. I glanced at my reflection in the mirror with full on foils and a cape.
And I thought: This is what it feels like to crap your pants in your adult life.
In front of everyone.
Right before you die.
via – I didn’t have time to feel ugly. I was in sheer panic mode.
Another foil…. she only had a few more, but I wasn’t going to last.
“I have go run the bathroom. I’m so sorry.”
I bounded from the chair and somehow made my way where I promptly did what I refer to as morning sickness pose. Because this was what it felt like. You know the pose. And if you don’t, then think college. Likened to downward dog, except standing up and bent over while you grasp your knees and breathe strategically like every breath counts for the sake of humanity. The one where you try to make yourself unaware of the toilet’s presence, because that makes it worse. But at least you’re close. The one where you want to summon your mother out of thin air to hold your hair back while you breathe like your life depends on it. The toilet is in a secure vicinity but if I acknowledge it, game over.
Mind over matter. Mind over matter.
Suck in all the air. Breathe it all out. I weighed my options. And as suddenly as the first wave appeared, it dissipated.
This is what Jamin did. And the offspring who went boldly before me with the Mutant Bubonic Plague Virus. The symptoms would come and then go, oh so suddenly. I could stay here and fight it, or I could go. Maybe it will pass… I thought stupidly as I worked my way out of the bathroom. At this point, it was a game. Because I was risking it. I was either really sick and had exposed a bunch of unsuspecting kind people like an idiot, or I had made myself paranoid and was acting like an idiot.
Either way, I was an idiot.
And let’s not forget my hair. The clock was ticking.
If this was the zombie apocalypse, I’d exposed everyone and I suck at life. This is what I get for judging Eve. I sat back down in the chair, and she finished off the last foils. I was okay. Until the next wave appeared.
She’d set the timer, off to clean and do her thing while I waited on my roots to take. And I knew what I had to do. Foils ablaze, cape flying, I went to find her in the back.
It was lose all dignity with bodily explosions which was sure to result in my death, or go ahead and call it off now. And retain a little dignity. Kind of.
I apologized, and told her I wasn’t feeling well. She was super sweet and told me when to take my foils out.
No photos to document this event, but I’m no stranger to public humiliation. See the I-missed-my-mouth-while-drinking-coffee example, above.
So there I was. Foils ablaze. Barely taking off the cape. Paying for my hair. In foils. Did I mention the foils were still in?
I was a virus spreader.
The walk of shame.
Out the door.
Down the sidewalk.
To the parking lot. Past the hoard of people. Who stared a little.
Said hoard was quite confused. Just some chick, perusing weirdly down the sidewalk in a half writhe, half walk. Hair full of foils.
I always said I was going to do that for halloween. With foils and hair conditioner and a cape. Except this was the middle of the day and this was more accurately a representation of death. Or a less attractive version of Edward Scissor Hands meets Beetlejuice went to the hair salon and died.
To the car where Jamin sat waiting.
He pulled up, wounds still fresh from his own visit from the Mutant Killer Alien Bubonic Plague from Hell, he knew better than to laugh.
So I did instead. A weird, writhing laugh filled with moans in the middle that sounded like a victim of torture because I felt so bad. But still fully aware of how absolutely absurd I looked.
We both burst into laughter.
“I can never go back. Ever. NEVER. EVER.” Was all I could muster. “NEVVEEEERRRRR”
He suppressed the urge to take a photo of me, while we drove back down to the apartment. At this point I was full on writhing. Now that I’ve decided to share this story, there are none to be found. I went home and fought the urge to be sick for a while. I hovered in the bathroom some more, foils still intact. Jamin still wondering if it was safe to take my photo, or if I might turn into that possessed chick from The Exorcist, conjure an evil spirit and murder him. This would also make an interesting headline in that news section on Facebook. My mug shot would look like Nick Nolte meets Justin Bieber. I finally took my hair down and washed it at the predetermined time. I was for sure I was going to die, but Mt. Vesuvius never erupted. So I finally took a Dramamine and went to bed. And proceeded to fight it off for the next 24 hours, only to be left feeling weak and weird.
And stupid.
Shame. Shame. Shame. {Hashtag CerseiLannister}
So there it is. The time I almost died and spontaneously imploded in a salon chair, and exposed innocent bystanders all at once.
And then did the walk of shame.
Jamin just says he wishes he had a photo. But we all know he has absolutely no room to talk.
Angela says
You poor thing! This happened to me last December. My whole family had it a week before. I thought I was in the clear. Guess where I was when symptoms hit. My sister-in-law’s bachlorette party. I was sitting at the table and was like OMG what is happening. Needless to say that is hopefully the first and last time I will ever have to puke in a public restroom. Because seriously being in public just makes being sick so much worse. Gosh being a parent is so awesome 😉
ashley @ the handmade home says
ESPECIALLY in a public restroom! I have nightmares about public restrooms and toilets on the regular. It’s like a recurring anxiety thing. Would have died right there. You go girl! Glad you’re better. That’s the WORST.
Rochelle says
O.M.G.!! You literally had me in tears reading this! Thank you for sharing your humiliation for my entertainment! Complete nightmare! And no, you can never ever go back there! Hilarious!
Jenna says
Oh my gosh I just laughed so hard. Thank you for this gem.
Amber says
Oh Poor Ashley! At least you can laugh now! We had this SAME plague go through all 6 of us, picking us off ONE AT A TIME last fall! And just when you would think you were well, it would ‘relapse’ at the worst possible moment! I know…the unthinkable happened to me and I had to do the poopy walk of shame at Winco (grocery store) in front of my mortified teenager. I can NEVER go back there again!
ashley @ the handmade home says
Oh. My. GOSH. I LOVE YOU. Read Jamin’s story that I linked at the very bottom. It will make you feel SO much better. You’re definitely not alone. Who knew this could happen in our adult years?!
Brie says
Ashley! !!! I can’t stop laughing, seriously , I’ve got mascara all down my face and stomach cramps from laughing, great, great story. Thank you for sharing :))
ashley @ the handmade home says
HAHAHA thank you for stopping by!
Amy says
I want you to know this was me, the morning of my best friends wedding, I thought I was in the clear was all packed up to meet her at the salon for her wedding and it hit like a tsunami, I couldn’t go anywhere, every 20 minutes something was leaving my body. I was stuck for the next 3 days like that, and completely missed the wedding. Love the honesty and you aren’t alone!
ashley @ the handmade home says
oh my gosh. I had a UTI {TMI?} at my sister’s wedding, and I hadn’t really experienced one before so I didn’t know what it was. And it was to the point where I had a full on fever and couldn’t stop throwing up. Jamin gave me two dramamine – enough to kill a horse, and I made it through the ceremony. But passed out at the reception. And slept for two days. NIGHTMARE. So sorry that happened to you!
Mirna says
Oh my! I so feel for you having had this experience! And at the same time I feel like a bit of a jerk for laughing so much! ? Thank you for sharing! What started off as a crappy day has been made better just by reading this post!!
Jennifer says
I really shouldn’t read your blog at work. Everyone walks by, sees me laughing hysterically – but in sympathy for this story, mind you – and knows I’m not working! Bless. Your. Heart. And in a good way, not the way we usually mean it! 😉 😉 Hope y’all feel better soon!
Cynthia says
This is absolutely the most hilarious post! My husband came out of his office to check on me. He couldn’t tell if I was laughing or what he feared crying. I was doing both!
Wendy says
You are such a talented writer! I laughed until my sides ached! Perhaps it was because you painted such a vivid picture of this episode…I could honestly feel your pain, or perhaps I could relate to this because I’m sure I sat in that very same chair. Regardless…thanks for the much needed laugh!
Sarah K says
I feel HORRIBLE for laughing as hard as I did. Tears streaming down my face. In my defense, I can soooo relate. I did this in a mall. With my best friend. Because Momma needs to get out shopping for a while. But I was in the mall hallway. Next to the Coach store. When I vomited like I’ve never seen anyone do before. (And I have a husband and 3 boys.) She was so sweet and drove me the hour home, after I left the vomit for Mall Security to clean up. (It came out of absolutely nowhere!) I’m sure she was thinking something awful about me and praying I didn’t make her sick, or any of her 4 children. Such an awful, awful experience.
I am glad you are feeling much better. And I hope you can go back and get your hair done again 🙂
ashley @ the handmade home says
That is terrible. I am so sorry. Glad you’re feeling better, too! Yay for public humiliation! Meanwhile, I have some serious root rot at this point in my game… I need to find {yet another} new hair person 😀