Must be going around

I knew it was a bad sign that Ben only wanted one slice of pizza.

He ate a banana after that, so he wasn't full, but he declined to finish even what he had. Now Ben refusing pizza is like Paris Hilton turning away from the camera, so you can imagine my concern. Ian got sick at school last Friday, so I feared the worst. Sure enough, a couple of hours after he went to bed, Ben could be heard making sounds you don't make willingly, and we found him wallowing in the remains of his dinner. And Ian's, and mine, and Sarah's from the looks of it. Barf was everywhere: on his pajamas, his pillow, his sheets, his blanket, the floor, the walls, the cats, the toys downstairs, you name it. It's a testament to how far I've come with respect to disgusting parent duty that I didn't add to the carnage myself.

We replaced the sheets, changed him into fresh pajamas, and tucked him back in. Not an hour later he was awake again suffering round two. Fortunately we had yet another spare set of sheets and pajamas (a miracle in our house), so we got him clean and comfortable a second time. Poor Ben was exhausted by that point, and he kept lamenting that he didn't like throwing up. I hear ya, buddy. I'll take any sort of gastroinstestinal distress over vomiting; so long as the digestive process doesn't go into reverse, I can live with it.

The saddest part was when he became concerned that he wouldn't get better by Saturday morning.

"But I won't be able to eat waffles!" he sobbed.

He likes our Saturday-morning waffles. More than pizza, apparently.

So far I've managed to avoid the stomach bug this season, but last week I came down with something even more fun. It all started last week when what appeared to be a zit appeared between the knuckles of my right pinkie finger. Strange location for a zit - usually they pop up on the tip of my nose like an evil junior high flashback - but whatever. Within a day, though, it had decided to wage war, first incapacitating the entire finger, then most of my right hand. When I began to feel searing, burning pain all the way up to my elbow, I caved and went to urgent care. They were concerned enough to put me on IV antibiotics, so I felt validated in bucking my habit of avoiding doctors at all cost.

For reference, you can see a picture of my finger here. It was initially diagnosed as cellulitis, but a culture revealed it to be an antibiotic-resistant strain of Staphylococcus. Which explained why the entry-level antibiotics I had been taking were having little effect. They upgraded me to Cipro, the antibiotic that became a household name during the anthrax scare a few years ago. So if you're planning to launch another anthrax attack on DC, please do it this week - it'll save me a lot of hassle.

I'm apparently one of the lucky few among the general population falling victim to the latest evolution of infectious bacteria. They're not just for hospitals anymore, nosirreebob! Ever the trendsetter, I am. By the time everyone else catches up, I'll be all like staph infections were so much cooler back when it was just me.