Germ Warefare

By Risa Goldstein

A virus killed my family’s computer. It wasn’t a simple sniffle-cough kind of a virus that slows a machine down. No, I’m talking about an angry virus that sent my beloved computer to its senseless, untimely death. The machine crashed and burned, taking everything in its path -- including the nearly finished “What Dad’s Need to Know” column I was writing.

“It was probably the bagel virus,” our new friends at Microsoft told Jeffrey during their 6-hour chat. So a bagel ate my computer?

After the first few minutes on the phone, the very patient technician at the help desk said, “Ohhh,” in the same way that doctors say “Ohhh,” when your blood test reveals something unexpected. “That’s bad,” he said. “Real bad.”

This computer virus is not the only illness we’re fighting around here, though. It seems someone is always sick in our house these days. More nights than I can count have been spent with one or the other of my children coughing, sneezing, restlessly tossing and turning, occasionally crying, and frequently vomiting.

Sometimes their illnesses are exotic and frightening. Earlier this winter, Shayna had Scarlet Fever/Strep Throat. What started as an annoying but harmless stomach virus quickly became an emergency as her fever rose to an alarming 104 degrees. Seemingly out of nowhere, a nasty red rash as rough as sandpaper appeared on her neck and face. Then it spread to her chest and back -- straight down to her brand-new Snow White panties.

How could this have happened? Jeffrey and I wondered. One day she seemed fine, the next she was extremely sick with full-blown scarlet fever. Scarlet Fever! Just the sound of it brought about tragic images from the past. Thank goodness the antibiotic-ibuprofen cocktail prescribed by her doctor worked quickly. Within two days Jeffrey and I were completely frazzled, and my lethargic little girl was begging to go back to school. Whew!

Then there was the time the green-mucus goblin snatched Breanna in the middle of the night, leaving behind a miserable beast in the morning. I remember the day began as usual -- Breanna tip-toed into my room, hoping for a pre-dawn snuggle-hug. I squeezed her still-warm body curling into mine. After a few minutes of cuddles, I sent her back to her own bed for a final hour of sleep. And with that, Breanna exploded, bursting into a rage of sobbing as she fell, devastated, onto the floor.

As I rolled out of bed, trying to console my out-of-control seven-year-old, Jeffrey tossed me a questioning glance. Together we took a close look at our squirming Breanna in the fuzzy glare of the nightlight. I noticed the purple rings under her puffy little eyes. Jeffrey commented on the pale green complexion of her sweet face and then -- BAM! -- Breanna let out the sneeze heard round the world. Well that explained everything. Of course she melted down, she was sick. Will we ever get it right? Why does it always take us so long to connect our children’s sudden unreasonableness with illness?

So once again, one of our not-always-so-adorable germ incubators had brought home yet another virus this cold season. I’ve lost track of the number of illnesses we’ve had this year. The good news is that, so far, we’ve missed out on West Nile virus and the plague. But it’s early in the season still.

Next is the dog. Since we brought Theodore home around Thanksgiving, our adorable puppy has been back to the vet more times than we’d like to admit for such afflictions as Giardia, ear infections, fleas, etc. Enough said here.

Then came the inevitable day Jeffrey and I dropped. First I got sick. I’ve been battling a sinus infection now for over a month. The pain in my face has been so bad that I mistakenly ran to the dentist, thinking I needed a root canal. One new, unnecessary filling later (luckily no root canal needed, thank you very much), plus three weeks of unbearable pain, and I’m on the job still. The girls need to be picked up from school. Dinner (although not gourmet these days, I’ll admit) is on the table every night.

I get sick once or twice a year; most of the time I barely know it. I work through it, taking an occasional nap if I need to, maybe going to bed a little early a few nights in a row, but fighting through always, rarely falling down on the job completely.

Jeffrey (as most men, I suspect) does sick differently. At first sniffle, he fights back -- with drugs, lots and lots of drugs. As a matter of fact, our medicine cabinet becomes Jeffrey’s very best friend. Then, after a day or two of drug-induced misery, he accepts the fact that he’s sick. I don’t mean he simply admits he’s sick and quietly finds a way to get better and goes on with his day.

Oh, no.

Jeffrey disappears, locking himself in his private sanctuary (our bedroom). “I’m sick!” he groans, coughing, sneezing and sniffling all the way down the hall. The darkened bedroom is now the center of his universe. And with that, we won’t see him again until he’s fully recovered.

Our family is so fragile when we’re sick. Most of the time, Jeffrey and I are aware of the responsibility of being the “mom” and “dad” in our house, but when any of us are ill, we feel completely helpless. So we try to take nothing for granted. We know everything can change in the blink of an eye, from Shayna getting Scarlet Fever to losing every email we’ve ever written and received.

“Be healthy, my girls,” Jeffrey whispers each night, checking the front door lock before turning off the lights.

I look in on Breanna and Shayna one last time before I slip into bed myself. “Sleep sweet, my family,” I speak softly into the night. Then I close my eyes and fall asleep, dreaming of illness-free days ahead.

Risa Goldstein is a writer/editor who spent 14 years in the New York publishing industry before "retiring" to sunny Southern California with her husband and their two amazing daughters. She can be reached at She can be reached at risa@familymanonline.com.