Friday, October 2, 2009

Prairie House Influenza

I guess my illness is going to stick around for a little bit. This misery is unrelenting.

If it were still the 19th century, this that i am laying in would be my death bed. And my husband would be by my bedside wringing his cap tightly. The town physician would then clasp his black medicine bag shut and tell him that i only have a few days left at most. Before leaving- the physician advises my husband that if the wind should breathe a little cooler that night- my health could give out at any moment- and that the windows were to be shut tightly until noon the next day.

My husband, 8 years my senior, heaves outs a heavy sigh while closing his eyes in thought. He would only lift them to stare out the window in hopes to see if our 7 little children were bounding across the prairie towards the house, hungry for supper. But there is no sound of them, no shrieking of excited little children, for they were only a quarter of their way home on the 6 mile trek from the school house.

Only the gentle applause of grass and leaves could be heard from outside.

... but it's not the 19th century, i don't live in a Steinbeck novel, and contraceptives have since been invented.

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