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Death virus
Death virus

Death virus

The year was 1994. Marching band tour. Bus 1. The Death Bus Virus started in the back of the bus with Andy R., our lead tuba. Now, a couple of notes about tuba players. One, they are very good kissers (I did not know this about this particular tuba player, just others). And two, all things, good and bad, start with them. Being in band, you pretty much just accept that as a fact of life. That, and trumpet players are egotistical morons, french horn players are intellectuals, oboe players are neurotic, and flute players are the goody two shoes. I say this being a flute player.

Back to the Death Bus Virus.

Andy was in the back of the bus. Band tour was four days. By the time we completed band tour, the entire bus of 56 people was sick. Death Bus Virus sick. Others in other buses may have had a few symptoms, but only bus 1 was hit hard. Tom and I were sicksicksick. You name the symptom, we probably had it. Andy was actually hospitalized while on tour and didn’t finish the gig. It was bad. Bad enough that I remember the details 13 years later and I barely remember yesterday.

Fast forward to this week.

A second cousin of Death Bus Virus has descended upon our humble abode. Death House Virus is here. The boys flirted with it last week and have pretty much improved. Tom and I want to crawl into a cave, preferably a cave with cable and room service, and stay there until we get healthy, or the boys are 18, whichever comes first. I have been sick since last Thursday, Tom since about Sunday. Easter was a wash; I was supposed to play 2 Easter services. I’m not sure I even got out of my pajamas that day. No pictures of the boys searching for Easter eggs because we didn’t color them. No pictures of the boys searching for their baskets because our eyes were too crossed to focus the camera. The Easter Bunny remembered on Saturday night at 11:30 that there were no baskets out and had to get up with her hacking assistant to get them, pack them, and hide them.

I went to the doctor on Monday, convinced I had strep. Whenever I feel this bad and have a sore throat, I have strep. It’s a no-brainer. Guess what? No strep. Just Death House Virus. OTC meds aren’t touching this. Airborne whimpers and hides under a rock. So no antibiotics, just 5 viles of blood taken to try to figure out why in hell I’ve been exhausted for the last 10 years. I have a suspicion I may be hearing “permanent mono” or “chronic fatigue syndrome” any day now. That’ll do wonders for my mood.

So, with the week half over, a late season snow storm predicted for Friday, A’s birthday party scheduled for Saturday…I feel like doodoo. Death House Virus has arrived and made itself at home.

Whaddya think?

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