In Little House on the Prairie there is a very affecting scene which I must have read many times. The family is suffering from an ague — and Laura, the least sick, must crawl across the cabin to fetch water for Mary. Both parents are also unable to move. Her body is aching but she makes it, and is praised as a hero by her parents.
It's not been quite that dire in this household, but close. P came back from the US last Sunday and immediately took to his bed, with what we thought was a violent case of food-poisoning. We know now better, as five days later, J and I fell ill within hours of each other, with the same thing. The worst of the dramatic symptoms only lasted 12 hours, but we are all weak as kittens, now. Yesterday we were taking turns to be the least sick, and to make the cup of tea and dried toast for the other. I went back to bed at 9.30 last night, and slept with a wet face-washer across my fevered brow. It's just what you want as you head into a new semester's teaching. And P is still a little frail, so it might be a long week.
I wasn't as sick as Mary and Laura, but I will confess to a moment of despair when everything seemed so horrible and difficult, I thought I'd never be able to read or write or teach ever again.
Two of J's friends have just come to pay a call, to make sure he's ok, and cheer him up. Sweet!