I don't mean to sound like a terrible mother, but the word "nightmare" is coming to mind.

You see Thursday I was so sick I had to go to the hospital. That's the short version of the story that involved much moaning in agony and much vomiting. They said it was gastritis--something not at all contagious--treated me a bit and sent me on my way.

Now it is Sunday night. My beloved husband who has had only a few hours sleep at best is driving this dark evening across the state through "winter advisory" weather, which means sleet, snow, ice, and stupid dangerous drivers. Meanwhile, my stomach is hurting in a way entirely too reminiscent of Thursday. I'm in too much pain to even eat and was weak and tired enough to crawl into bed earlier this evening wondering how I was going to get through the next few hours until children's bedtime. I crawled out of bed long enough to send my husband off with a kiss and admonishments for safe travel when one of my children vomited all over the bathroom. My husband cleaned it up for me before leaving on his journey, and then a second child vomited in a second bathroom. Then the first child again, on the floor on the way to the bathroom. Back and forth they volley with no one to care for them and clean up afterward but sick-and-in-pain me.

There's no refuge for me. I'm pained for my sick children, worried for them, worried for my husband, worried for my non-sick children, in pain and weary.