WE have worms.
I’m sorry. I’m very very sorry.
I won’t go into the details because some of you may be reading this while eating but suffice to say they’re not pleasant.
Thankfully the treatment is a dose of some truly unpleasant medicine for the whole family – pardon the pun – and washing every bit of laundry in the house, so in that regard it’s not so bad. But did I mention the laundry?
Oh Jesus the fucking laundry.
It wouldn’t be so bad if the worms hadn’t come on the back of a double dose of Norovirus in the house. Both myself and The Beast were struck down with it within 24 hours of each other and it was the most violent bug I’ve ever encountered.
The poor child was hospitalised for it (surely 11 vomits in seven hours has to be a record?) and then within hours of us arriving home, I was on my knees in the bathroom praying for the sweet release of death.
So, without going into detail, dealing with Norovirus meant a lot of washing, all the bedclothes were destroyed, all the PJs, everything had to be washed and dried.
And not washed at a nice speedy 40 degrees either. No, we had to do the hot wash, the boil wash to make sure the fucking bug was dead.
Do you know how long a hot wash takes in my machine? Well do you? Eight and a half hours.
Eight and a half hours, that’s how long.
That’s how it felt anyway. Standing, hopeless, in my kitchen; shaky kneed and half dead from dehydration. Railing at the machine to just fucking finish. JUST SPIN ALREADY! YOU ALREADY RINSED THAT! Much like watching a non-boiling kettle, bellowing at your washing machine doesn’t make it work any faster either.
We had just recovered, barely, BARELY (by about 48 hours) from all the puking when the worms moved in.
Bustling about setting up house. Rearranging their furniture. Making themselves known.
And the Goddamn laundry cycle had to start all over again.
Off came the bed sheets and the towels again. Every wash cloth, every pair of trousers, every single pair of PJs, pants and knickers. There isn’t a knicker left unwashed in this house. Cleanest knickers this side of the Mississippi.
Of course, they also had to be boil washed. I just wanted to cry. Only, you know, I had no tears left what with being so dehydrated from the FUCKING NOROVIRUS!
I have no hands left anymore. Just two raw, bloody stumps from being washed so much. We no longer use soap in this house, we’re washing our hands with pure acid. Just honest to goodness acid to make sure our hands are truly clean, soap is dead to me at this stage.
And all of this was BEFORE the child went back to preschool. BEFORE he started associating with other germinators. I thought we’d at least get a respite from the sickness during the summer holidays, but no. Not us. It’s fine. I SAID IT’S FINE!
The Beast went back for his second year of preschool this morning – I swear when I walked in the door, I physically felt germs leaping on to me – so God knows what we’re in for next.
You laugh now, but trust me, it’s coming.
Still, at least the first day went off smoothly, The Beast was delighted to be back with his little pals and he’s moved up to the ‘Big Kid Room’ as he calls it with a new teacher that he likes very much. He went in happily and crucially came out happily as well, so I think it’s going to be a great year.
Until we get, you know, smallpox.