The Most Horrible Story Ever Told

I want to journal this mostly for myself. I'm very proud of the way my family pulled together over the last three weeks and I feel stronger for having survived this. This will be long. And gross.

A tale of Norovirus...

We decided to celebrate the Superbowl a week early this year. Chase was going to be gone for the actual game and didn't want to miss out on all the yummy junk food that is synonymous with the greatest football game of the year. Chase and I don't follow professional football, but we certainly enjoy an excuse to laugh at ridiculous commercials, watch a mediocre halftime show, drink beer and consume mass quantities of fat. So the Sunday before the game we had it all planned out (If he can't watch the game, he can still eat, right?): Meatballs, buffalo dip, pizza rolls, spanakopita, rolo cake bars... I'm sure there was more. That morning Natalie had a play date with Christopher (thank you GOD I wasn't symptomatic yet) and all was well. Later in the afternoon I ran to the grocery store to get some last minute provisions. That's when it happened. Walking through the produce section of the grocery store my stomach flipped. Something shifted and I suddenly just didn't feel "right". I shrugged it off and went about my shopping. By the time I got home I was in agony... my stomach felt like someone was holding it in a vice grip and the pain radiated through my back and down my legs. I still managed to prepare dinner, somehow... not sure how actually. Natalie was climbing all over me, timers were going off in the kitchen, Chase was preparing to leave for two weeks and Mom and Granddad were due to arrive any minute. I'll spare you the details, but by 6p.m. I was feverish and could barely move... I couldn't get Natalie to bed and Mom had to do it... the hammer fell that night and it was ugly. For a fleeting moment I briefly considered selling my soul just so it would go away... I went to bed hoping it was over and praying that the next day would bring better health. It didn't.

At this point Chase is gone, he's not just at work, he's GONE gone. I have no way of getting in touch with him and he's clueless about what's happening to his family. Things got progressively worse throughout the day, and by bedtime once again I was sick as a dog and had bone shattering chills. I'm not kidding, I was shaking so violently my joints were cracking. I decided to crawl out of the bathroom and take my temperature. It was 106. We called 911. The whole thing was so surreal, I was laying on the couch (nursing, I might add), the room was spinning, Natalie was crying, Mom was on the phone with 911 and I actually thought I was dying. It took what felt like forever for the ambulance to get to me. After a while I could hear the sirens in the distance and I immediately felt both panic (oh SHIT! I'm 28 and I need an ambulance!) and release. The paramedics were kind, and laughed when I joked about wishing I hadn't worn granny panties, they reassured me, rubbed my back, felt my forehead and drove me to the ER.

Upon my arrival at the ER I became a human pincushion. They took blood from multiple places (6 to be exact), started IV's, collected urine and monitored my (very rapid) pulse. I was dehydrated and needed potassium, but they weren't sure how much until all of my lab results were in. An hour or two passed and the doctor came in with a solemn look on her face. "You were smart to come in" she said. Apparently, I was the lucky recipient of not only the Norovirus but a nasty intestinal infection, too. I needed mass doses of two different kinds of antibiotic, lots more potassium and fluids. My heart sank when she said "I'm admitting you". She went on to tell me I could no longer nurse Nick, not while I was on the antibiotic and not for several days after I stopped taking them. She told me my course of antibiotics would take at least two weeks and if I refused treatment I could potentially lose my colon. My ears began to ring. I started to think about the last time I nursed Natalie, it was intentional and deliberate. She and I had come to a mutual decision that it was time to wean... I was comfortable with the decision and purposefully etched that memory into my brain and tucked it away in my heart. And then I thought of the last time I nursed Nick... I couldn't remember it. It was a blur. There was a couch, frantic movement, a crying child.... sirens. I began to cry. I manage to pump some milk for him, Mom came to the ER to get it. On her way home she hit a deer.

Later that night once I was settled into my hospital bed, with two IV poles and a breast pump, the nurse came in to give me more potassium. This time it was given in my IV rather than orally. It. Hurt. Like. Hell. I laid there, nauseated, defeated, exhausted and worried. As she pushed that fire into my veins she turned off the lights and said "go to sleep". Eventually, after about an hour, the intense pain either subsided or I got used to it (I don't know which) and I managed to sleep for about 15 minutes.

The next day a new doctor came in and told me my potassium levels were back up, so were my fluids and the IV antibiotics I received had gotten the infection initially under control. She wrote me a prescription for a one week course of antibiotics, which was music to my ears and then she said "please continue to nurse your baby". I swear I could hear the angels singing and any further instructions she gave were drowned by my sobbing. But to be on the safe side I also called my OB who confirmed that I was indeed safe to nurse.

I was discharged from the hospital and sent home with strict instructions to rest. I was grateful for Mom, Grandmom, Pam and Dad who all played a huge role in helping me through my hell. We joked that when Chase got home we'd tell him that what happened the night he left concluded with Mom, Grandmom and Dad all standing together in our living room!

When I got home I immediately began to disinfect, I took out trash and changes linens, wiped down everything and prayed harder than I ever had before. That night during bath, Natalie suddenly jumped out of the bath, grabbed her stomach, bent over and said "Momma, make it better". I could have spit out my heart. I prayed that she was pretending because she knew mommy had a stomach ache... she wasn't. About an hour after I put her to bed she got sick. Very sick. I scooped her and Nick up and we (me and Mom) drove them to the ER. Poor little Natalie was violently ill every ten minutes for about 2 or 3 hours. It was the single most horrific thing I have ever experienced. It was far worse than my own experience with the virus and I wished I could take it from her. She kept crying "mommy make it better" and writhing in agony. I was helpless, thankfully my Mom was there to help comfort her. She really put herself in the line of fire with the virus... I wanted to keep as much of it off of me for Nick's sake. Thankfully, he never got it. The doctor gave her Zofran and sent us on our way. But not before mentioning to me that "he he has croup", he was referring to Nick. I wanted to shake my fists at the sky a scream at God to leave us alone. It's only now that I can understand that without God's presence it would have been so much worse. He wasn't doing it to us, He was guiding us through the storm.

The next 72 hours were filled with a lot of laundry, a lot of vomit, many baths and a lot of worry. Nick was furious from his steroid prescription, I was tired and my veins still hurt, Natalie wasn't well and poor Mom had to clean up after Natalie's accidents not once, but three times. I'm still not sure how she didn't get it. But Granddad did. Nothing makes you feel worse that knowing you gave not only your baby girl but also your 80-year-old precious Grandfather a nasty nasty nasty stomach bug. On Saturday, almost a full week after the nightmare began, both Natalie and Granddad were still ill. I was almost at rock bottom, and then the phone rang. It was Chase and he was coming home early, the very next day. My heart raced and I shakily told him all the events that took place over the last week. I could hear the shock, concern and frustration in his voice. "Honey, why didn't you call the unit?" he asked. I don't know.

One week and one day after everything began, no one had been sick in several days and we claimed victory. The lady that cleans our house came and bleached it from top to bottom, we opened windows, slept on fresh sheets and I finally exhaled. Things were getting back to normal, my nighttime anxiety was diminishing, my shoulders weren't so tense and Natalie's appetite was back.

That Wednesday Chase came home and said "two guys at work have it", I felt for them and warned Chase to wash his hands like a maniac and touch no one. I was worried but confident it was over. I thought there was surely no way it would spread to Chase at that point. Wrong. On Sunday Chase came home from work (yes I said Sunday and work in the same sentence) and told me he didn't feel so good. Deep down I knew he was sick, but tried to be positive and we convinced ourselves that he was probably just really hungry and tired. We went to lunch and the whole time he just looked green, when we got home he went to bed and the whole cycle repeated itself again... complete with another ER visit. I felt terrible for him, I had to completely quarantine him in our room and when I went in to take care of him I wore a mask and changed my clothes immediately. He understood, there was no way I was risking reinfecting the whole house. He's been better since Monday and I'm still in the process of decontaminating this house. Again. I'm swimming in piles and piles of laundry and even made myself ill from bleach fumes.

I am so thankful for my family and friends who were supportive over the last three weeks. My immediate family stepped in to help me with the kids, my work family covered my classes and took care of everything there for me and my friends offered to help in any way they could (without actually coming near us, of course). I can't believe the last three weeks actually happened and I feel incredibly strong now that I survived them. I'm totally gun shy now, though... my hands are literally bleeding from washing them so much!

The blessings were that Nick, Mom and Grandmom all escaped the virus and that no one had to cook ;)

So here's what I learned (I'm pretty sure the CDC has flagged my IP address because I've been researching so much):

-Norovirus is highly contagious, you pick it up from contaminated particles of feces and vomit that you have to swallow, not breathe, SWALLOW. Gross, huh? What that means is if you're taking care of someone who's ill you have to clean everything that's in the bathroom and/or anywhere they've been sick. Wash towels after each use, throw away toothbrushes and clean all surfaces. Wear a mask and preferably gloves. Noro likes to hide out under fingernails.

-The only thing that kills it is bleach, a 10% diluted solution to be exact. Not clorox wipes, lysol spray or pine sol. Nothing but bleach. Blech. And in order for the bleach to work properly you have to spray the surface and wait 5-10 minutes before rinsing it with clean water. Pain in the ass, I tell ya.

-Norovirus is expensive. It can live without a host for up to two weeks, and you can be contagious for up to two weeks afterwards. Wash all dishes and linens worn or used during infection on the hottest cycle they'll stand and for as long as they'll stand, then dry using high heat. My dishwasher has been set on "Sanitize" and my washing machine on "Heavy Duty" for three weeks now.

-Immunity to it is short lived. After you've been infected and IF you are one of the lucky ones that has some immunity (mostly it's only partial immunity) it only lasts about 2-14 weeks. A person is contagious the moment they begin to feel ill.

-Hand sanitizers and antibacterial soap do not kill it. Learn proper hand washing techniques and DO NOT TOUCH YOUR FACE.