House of illness

6.15am ( awake at 6am up at 6.05am)

Its getting light on another fresh spring morning, less fog more damp than the day before. The headlights of cars shine their lights towards the front of my lounge window as they zoom past. The workers.

I hope to meet my friend for a walk this morning, I need to get out, I need to escape this house that has become hospital. I am no good at nursing, I simply have no patience for it, but it is the role that I must perform. My mum was a nurse by profession and I am sure that this helped whilst raising four children. I am not patient and I am not kind. I stumble and trip may way through care work. Perhaps I don’t care, maybe that is the problem.

So all the boys and man are sick. Sick with some sort of horrid virus that causes throats to burn and temperatures to rise. Each sick person is in their room. I have to ensure that both boys get their dose of paracetamol and ibuprofen every 4 hours. I chalked up the times on the board so I didn’t become muddled. Thankfully Patrick is taking care of his own antibiotics and pain killers, so as not to complicate my timetable further.

So there is little to say. I took them to the GP’s collected their prescriptions, did the shopping, tucked them all in bed, plugged them into their TV screens, sorted some of the mess on the dinning table, washed the clothes and sheets and towels, put the clothes away, checked if any one needed drinks, got on with some administration work, made them two meals, washed up, cleared away, watched the end of The Voice with Syd, placated some arguments between them all, read some stories to Naoise, scratched my head, instructed Syd to take his next painkillers are 10.15pm if he was still awake then and fell asleep with my arms around little Naoise.


I am tired, I am not sure I can write much more here, I need to enjoy this little bit of space, perhaps read The Guardian supplement about How to change the world by Srdja Popovic, and dream up my own revolution.


1 comment

  • Alison Burrows

    So it’s a nasty virus. In my household, I get the illness first, then Robert, sometimes. I never used to get ill, maybe it’s all catching up with me now. You’re so poetic. Even the bad times have a certain wistfulness about them. They need you, you don’t even know that you care, but your actions speak loudly that you do, of course you do! Love always XXX

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