Welcome to Plague House
Parking in our garage this evening, I could smell the baked chicken through the door: a sweet, smoky smell. Just right, I thought as I walked into the house. Gabriel was parked on the couch, lounging in his pjs and lost in Nintendo DS land.
I wandered through the kitchen, peeling back some tin foil to admire the golden chicken sitting atop the stove, back to the kids' shared bathroom. "Smells good!" I grinned.
Janette may not have heard me; she was busy giving Hannah a bath. Hannah kicked playfully at the shower spray tickling her feet. She smiled up at me, a constellation of red, botchy hives burning brightly at me from her trunk and arms.
"I'm going to schedule an appointment with the skin doctor," Janette mused.
"Need help?" I asked. We were expecting company for dinner.
"Yeah," she brushed the hair from her face. "Could you peel the carrots?"
"Sure."
I walked back into the kitchen. Hannah's hives had started up about two weeks ago. Despite increased medicine, attention, and a doctor's visit, we were not winning the battle. It concerned me.
"Gabriel," I called. "Gab-ree-el. Gab-REE-AL!"
I broke through the electronic haze. He looked up from the couch, giving me a nasally "Wh-yut?"
"You want to help me peel some carrots?"
"G-noo, tanks," he replied, turning back to his game. "I'mnh snick."
So I flipped on the evening news and began peeling carrots. Gabriel wandered over, coughing prodigiously. "I'mnh snick."
I stopped and observed. The stuffy nose was obvious; it had started a day or two before. But his breathing seemed a little more forced now, and the coughing was relentless. "Okay, let's start some medicine." Albuterol - two puffs. "Let me know if that feels better."
"It duz." Sniff.
"Drink lots of water, please."
Our dinner guests were due any minute. Janette finished Hannah's bath and came back into the kitchen to finish dinner. Hannah sat in the middle of the kitchen, taking it all in. Gabriel climbed off the couch briefly. He looked flushed. I took his temperature with an ear thermometer. 99.8 F. Time for ibuprofen.
Ah, yes, I thought of our soon-to-be-dinner guests: Welcome to Plague House! It is one of those rather frequent moments when you can see the tendrils of illness creeping through the house, claiming one victim at a time. I'd be on fever patrol with Gabriel tonight, I was sure. I wasn't sure who was up next, but I was sure there would be a next. And a next. I began mentally planning the what-if-I-need-to-call-in-sick scenario (need to grab laptop, etc.) - lining up contingencies.
The front door opened, and our guests poured in. Gabriel promptly announced. "Imnh snick." And I began my apologies.
