soft-boiled eggs

We've been fighting Influenza B (the less potent one) chez amazonmidwife. Patient 0, aka the 'Savant, brought it home from work early last week. Though he fought the good fight, he finally succumbed to viral conjunctivitis last weekend. I had him wearing warm chamomile teabags with colloidal silver for relief, as well as using some homeopathic eyedrops all weekend. He still had to go to the doctor, who seconded my diagnosis, to get a work excuse on Monday, but he was over the worst part and soldiered back to work Tues.

The Boy became Patient 1 early Saturday afternoon , presenting with a fever and malaise. (I know he's sick when he stops talking.) I was sanguine until he started complaining about his neck hurting, so I put a call in to our wonderful ped, who talked me down from thinking the Boy had developed viral meningitis as a complication and persuaded me to give him some acetaminophen. (I rarely use the stuff; fevers have a purpose in my world view. However, there is also something to be said for letting the body rest to heal as well.) He had recovered some spark by Saturday evening, but did have several bouts of night terrors, which confused me a bit, since they occurred after I had re-dosed him at bedtime. The jury is still out on acetaminophen here.

The night terrors caused me to bring him into our bed again, and I didn't get great sleep. (I knew I was playing with fire, but figured that I had developed some immunity after sleeping with the 'Savant all week.) Nonetheless, I started my offensive armed with Emergen-C, Oscillococcinum and colloidal silver, dosing myself and the Girl. I was heavily invested in staying well, since I had a repeat mama due, and didn't want to miss her birth.

The offensive worked pretty well; the Girl has been fine, but I was feeling a little punk on Tuesday, being aware of a slight swelling of my neck lymph nodes. Sleeping in that AM seemed to have provided enough reinforcements to be feeling better by the evening. (Yes, the military metaphors, though not my strong suit, are deliberate. Deal.)

However, I got cocky yesterday. After my busy day, the mama went into labor. She had a beautiful birth, but I didn't get home until 3 this AM. Instead of resting the weary troops, I decided to press on and bake some cupcakes for the commercial and fete the Girl was having for French class today. (They've been working for the last six weeks on a food unit, creating and translating a menu, talking about French restaurants, creating and translating a script for the commercial---all of this leading up to today's culmination.) All the kids were into the idea of gooey French desserts, but the Girl's creativity involved patisserie chocolat et caramel seupeudsee avec suesedare arc en ciel (chocolate cupcakes, iced with chocolate and caramel, topped with rainbow sprinkles for the philistines among us, or those who can't read French without the accents.)

I knew that I'd be less likely to want to get up to make them, and I thought it would be a great way to work off the post-birth adrenalin buzz. I also thought I'd actually get more sleep that way, not having the task looming over me while I slept. But I succumbed to temptation, actually tasting what I was making, even knowing that sugar is Benedict Arnold, if not the devil. And I vastly underestimated the time it would take for making and clean up said patisseries and only ended up with 3.5 hours sleep. Call me Colonel Custer.

So, by the time I got everyone home from their activities this afternoon, my body was in full retreat mode; I was exhausted with a raging sore throat. I went immediately to bed at 5:00, while the 'Savant took my post and went fabric shopping for tomorrow's history class craft (carp kites) and food shopping for the teriyaki recipe that goes with the lesson. (medieval Japan---not to be confused with the girls' 17th century Japan unit recently mentioned.)

But I, like Patton, have not yet begun to fight, 'cause I have too much to do to surrender to the 'flu: history class tomorrow, prepping for the first O.W.L. class, teaching that on Sunday, as well as doing a 3 day visit to the new mom and baby, the girls' history class on Monday, Mama Dee coming down etc. etc. So I have brought out the big guns. No, not antibiotics...those are nuclear weapons. These are the heavy artillery, the psych ops troops....soft-boiled eggs.

(Okay, those of you who do not like liquid egg yolks should stop reading now. Nothing I say will convince you of my worldview if loose eggs repel you.)

But when I was amazonchild, my mama inculcated me in the healing powers of soft-boiled eggs. When I was nauseous or had vomited, she had a carefully prescribed regimen of treatment: clear fluids (usually 7-Up, which I would never give my kids now) sipped slowly, a teaspoonful every 5 minutes for a few hours, or whenever I woke up, then milky tea, again sipped slowly. If that stayed down, we moved up to toast, dipped in the milky tea. Next came the soft-boiled eggs---the harbinger that told me I was on the mend.

But she didn't just use them for stomach upsets; they slipped softly down a sore throat, didn't have to be chewed when I had the mumps etc. Soft-boiled eggs are the reminder that This Too Shall Pass, and Things Will Be Better In The Morning---the ultimate comfort food for illness of any sort.

Now that I have to prepare them myself, with all the accompanying burnt and messy fingers, fishing out of bits of shell, I appreciate the love in those childhood bowls all the more. So after making and ingesting this potent medicine, I am going back to sleep now, to wake up well, or at the least, well in mind resigning myself to some self-care induced cancellations, but preferably, well.