For the first time in the history of our little nuclear family, someone has the flu.
It’s my baby — my 21-year-old son.
He came over the other night for supper and was coughing and blowing his nose. When I expressed motherly concern, he told me not to overreact, that it probably was just a cold.
When he said he felt bad and was going “home,” to his apartment, I offered a box of Kleenex, Advil or Tylenol, a Breathe Right. He was a little annoyed with me for making a big deal about it, but he took a box of Kleenex.
I sprayed everything down with Lysol — knobs on kitchen cabinets and drawers, the top of the hand sanitizer, refrigerator door handles, the television remote. I have become more germophobic the older I get.
The next day, my husband and I got a text from him: “Could either of you at some point bring me a thermometer, Tamiflu and whatever else you think I might need? (Maybe Tylenol, DayQuil and NyQuil?)”
Then I knew it was serious. This is my child who is never sick and, when he is, never complains and doesn’t even act much different. When he was in elementary school, he was sick and had such a high temperature that I took him to the emergency room. When a staff member stuck his head in our room to ask if he needed anything, my son said: “Well, a million dollars and my own vending machine would be nice.”
My husband and I asked his symptoms. He replied: “Headache, runny nose, cough, mild chills ….”
When I suggested he go to a walk-in clinic and get tested for the flu — and he agreed — I knew he must feel really bad. I felt bad that I didn’t put my hand to his forehead the night before. I may lose my mom card for this.
I also knew that you have to get on flu medicine within 48 hours, if possible, for it to work best.
He drove himself to the clinic, of course, and, yes, it was the flu. This is the first year in a while that the child hasn’t had a flu shot, but as we have all read, it wasn’t greatly effective this year.
While our son was in the clinic, my husband got a few supplies, including a thermometer and chicken noodle soup, and left them at our son’s apartment door. After he got his flu diagnosis and his prescriptions, our son went to the pharmacy. (Who knows how many people he infected on this trip; this is why I avoid pharmacies this time of year.)
My husband and I checked on him via text. I called one day when I was near his apartment complex. I asked if he needed anything at all, and he finally agreed to let me bring him a Dr Pepper and a root beer. I was happy to do it. “I knew you wanted to, so I capitulated,” he said.
We went out to dinner and texted our son and told him we’d bring him something to eat. He asked for a burger and fries.
“I really appreciate this. I should get sick more often,” he texted.
I woke up today with a sore throat and headache. I’m getting a list of my demands together.
Senior writer Tammy Keith can be reached at (501) 327-0370 or tkeith@arkansasonline.com.