The good news… me and mine are safe at home right now, and I’m on my way to bed very shortly.
The bad news… the minivan is a hot zone.
The horror… 11 hours into what turned out to be a 14-hour trip, Patches barfed. This was his first experience with it (at least in his working memory), which meant concepts like “aim for the bucket,” and “no, you’re not dying” were completely alien. The only bright spot was that we were only 12 miles from West Wendover when it happened, so a Chevron with a garbage can, a bathroom, and a fresh supply of paper towels was just up ahead.
Well, we took almost an hour getting cleaned up. Then, 30 minutes from home, Link barfed. He’s seven, and he knew to ask for the bucket first… the only piece of good news since the “Wendover 12” sign.
I’ll spare you the TMI. Just thinking about providing you with more graphic descriptions of the ordeal makes me queasy.
We’ve been RELIGIOUS about not sharing food, about washing hands (we have some hand sanitizer gel for washing hands while on the road, even), and about wiping stuff down with Clorox wipes. See, “stomach flu” (as defined by the symptoms we’ve been experiencing) is also known as “viral gastroenteritis.” It’s norovirus, which is not airborne (unless you’re projectile vomiting, and then it’s better described as “ballistic”). You CAN stop the spread if you’re careful.
Well… we discovered that one of my sick-bed “Propel” bottles got re-used as a water-bottle on Tuesday by Link. And Patches, at 2 years old, can become a vector for a dozen different plagues within two minutes of being dipped in bleach. So… the two who were most likely to get sick got sick. That leaves only Sandra and Kiki untouched so far.
Pray that Sandra stays hale, because if SHE falls ill, the whole skein comes unraveled at the corner thread labeled “Mommy.”