I am aware that there are children with various respiratory diseases and other medical ailments which parents should be aware of and take any precautions that their physician might prescribe. Please seek medical attention if you must and use your best judgment.
However, I have reviewed news reports depicting children with flu who lay languishing with the specter of death hanging at the foot of their beds. Unable to move, it seems almost necessary to force liquids and food into them with IVs. If they survive at all.
That is the image that I had in my mind, of course, so I dreaded the flu season like most concerned guardians of children. I wrapped my nine-year old in cellophane (with the appropriate holes in the nostril and other important areas of the anatomy) and sent him off to school. I did not want him to loose a minute of his childhood languishing in the bed suffering from this disease that the media so frighteningly describes.
What happens? He gets the flu. I knew it was a death sentence.
All day he is in his room bouncing off the walls, begging me to let him go skating and just generally being energetic. I am having trouble finding things for him to do. I go to his school to get his school work to keep up in class. He finishes much of it quickly—as long as I can keep his concentration on it instead of daydreaming of the day he can go skating again.
He has no dysfunction. No loss of energy. No relatives gathered around waiting for a final confession. As far as I can tell, Death has not even knocked at the door. I don’t even think Death knows where we live. The good news is that he will definitely live. But it has been a pain to get any work done.
Thanks, CNN. I feel cheated.