2 minute read

Two of my favorite things in the world: spring break and Hawaii. Neither has quite panned out, this go-round.

Earlier this semester, during the height of the negotiation-related stress, I made the decision to cash in a bunch of miles and surprise R. with a trip to Hawaii during my spring break. The timing seemed good; Hawaii is where this blog was born, and it’s returned there fairly frequently over the last several years. It’s a good place for decompressing, and a good place for the odd productivity of the working vacation. Plus, this time out, we had a lot to celebrate. We had high hopes.

And then R. arrived in SoCal Thursday night, preparatory to our Friday morning flight, not feeling so great. Feeling pretty crappy, actually. Running a 102-degree fever, in fact. My immediate thought was that we shouldn’t travel–we could get the miles redeposited, stay put in Claremont, spend the week being still and watching the new TV DVDs I’ve gotten lately, and just attempt to ride out whatever bug had gotten him. He wanted to try to make the trip, though, and was convinced that it was just a 24-hour thing. And, in fact, the next morning when we woke up, his fever was way down, he was able to eat a bit of breakfast, and so we got on the plane.

It was not just a 24-hour thing.

R.’s had what I can only figure is some sort of very slow burn norovirus. The fever mostly subsided, moving between normal and 100-ish, but the nausea and its unmentionable cousins gradually intensified over the course of three days, and so Sunday morning I got him to go to a clinic, where they gave him an IV with anti-nausea meds, gave him two more prescriptions to deal with the symptoms, and sent us back to our hotel with instructions for a very restricted diet to be followed for the next few days.

The good news is that he’s gradually getting better, but is nothing like up to speed yet. The other good news is that, so far, at least, I seem to have been spared. But spring break has mostly been spent in our hotel room, with me worried like crazy and him in various stages of pain, discomfort, and unconsciousness. We’ve both gotten a lot of sleep, which is good. But it hasn’t been restful. And it hasn’t been celebratory. And it hasn’t been productive.

We’ve got a couple of days left, and so I’m hoping that his recovery will accelerate from here. In the meantime, I’m trying not to plunge into the depression I see beckoning at the edges of my vision.

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