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Mr. Deathbed

Recently a stomach virus swept through our household with a ferocity I've rarely seen. I mean, we all fell prey, swiftly and severely, to its vomitorious grossness. All except for my husband, of course, who is rarely ill. Probably because he works six days a week and is never home to immerse himself elbow-deep in germ-infested toilets and pukey clothing like I am.

But then ... days after the rest of us, when the toilets had long been sanitized and life had resumed without a single case of diarrhea in the house ... he got it.

Now, for purposes of comparison, let me outline my own experience with the stomach bug. I had been tirelessly taking care of the three children that got it before me, as moms do, so it was only a matter of time. It hit me about 10 pm, and I spent the hours between then and dawn alternately retching and pooping (sometimes both simultaneously ... you're welcome), laying in a disgusting heap on the bathroom floor in cold, lonely, quiet angst while Curtis sle…

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