Strong like bull

One thing that is clearly evident after the last two weeks: I am invincible.
I base this on the fact that the rest of my family contracted some vicious alien illness that rendered my house a sick bay.
It started with my wife. She went to bed on a Saturday night, saying she wasn’t feeling that great. Might have a bit of a cold, she thought. She decided to invite our good friend NyQuil over and see how it goes. When she finally got out of bed about three days later, she still felt lousy. It was tough on me, too. I had to feed the kids, get them dressed, help them with homework and the like. You know, the things she does every day. Hardly fair to me.
But she was kind enough to get up long enough to get our son Parker sick. He took the funk baton from her and ran with it. Most kids, when they get sick, like to curl up on the couch, maybe take in a movie, snuggle up with Mommy or Daddy. Not Parker. The more the fever ticked up, the more wired he got.
100 – Sprinting through the den, singing Diego theme song.
101 – Sprinting up and down the stairs, screaming Diego theme song.
102 – Swinging from ceiling fan, emitting a hum that, I think, may have been a rapidly condensed Diego theme song.
Bedtime was a treat, too. Normally, Parker goes to bed quite well. Bath, teeth brushed, swig of NyQuil Jr. (OK, there is no such thing as NyQuil Jr. I checked.) But when he was fired up with fever, there would be no bedtime. I would sit with him, and he would get stiff as a board and say, “Mommy. Mommy. Mommy. Mommy.” So Mommy would come in. “Daddy. Daddy. Daddy. Daddy.” We both would come in. “Diego. Diego. Diego. Diego.”
After a few days, his fever was down, and he was on the mend, meaning that his sister had her turn. She had been somewhat jealous of all of the attention her brother got. About two days into her illness, she confessed that she had kinda wanted to be sick, but now that she had headed down that path, she would like to pass on it. No can do, you who tested positive for flu. She was miserable, with a fever comparable to Parker’s. Her difference is that she opted for lying in bed, watching the Disney channel, on occasionally moaning loud enough so that we could hear her. There were three mains moans: “Water”; “Take my temperature”; “Get Parker out of here.”
But through it all, one thing remained constant: My refusal to get sick. Some would chalk it up to having gotten a flu shot. Other might call it dumb luck. Clearly, that is insane, as the only sensible answer is that I have an unparalleled strength, and I refused to allow sickness to win.
I know what you’re thinking – you’re thinking it’s only a matter of time until I get sick, especially having said that. To which I say: Pshaw. I do not believe in jinxes. But I believe in submersing myself in a tub of Purel for hours on end.
So I will consider myself victorious in the battle that claimed three in my household. I am the last man standing. For I am strong. Although I do feel a tickle in my throat...