An Anti-It Medication By Scarlett O'Cheesecake At Isnare.com Ezine Articles

Joanie collapsed onto the couch and sighed, "Oh, thank you, all you saints and sinners, for helping us survive another Christmas!" No wonder she was exhausted. As usual, the home she shared with her husband, four children (two theirs plus one each from their previous marriages), dog, cat, fish and a crabby bird, was the gathering place for far-flung family. "They haven’t been flung far enough!" thought Joanie midweek when feeling particularly put upon.

Because more than human beings descended on their home.

By Christmas Eve, Joanie was already stressed out but not "just" from shopping and wrapping and cooking and baking but because everyone in the household was at various stages of an intestinal flu. The twins, age 4, in their Doctor Dentons, padded from couch to bed to bathroom clutching bowls, looking more like exotic beggars from some very short tribe than sick kids coping with churning bellies. Matt, invincible, slayer of dragons, her hero of heroes, was uprooted like a tree in a tornado; he had given up staying in bed and instead laid on the bathroom floor. The teens, Matt Jr., and Elly, were preternaturally quiet, a silence that forecast their bout with It was imminent. By the next afternoon, sure enough, they were bathroom ridden.

Into these chambers of horrors descended the Far Flungers, the jolly uncle and his ebullient wife bringing with them not only gifts beautifully wrapped by Santa’s elves (that’s the malarkey they tried to foist off onto The Twins) but another strain of It which included high fevers and sweats that drenched the guestroom bedding. Joanie divvied up her time between the kitchen and the laundry – making sure everyone was hydrated and keeping the washer and drier running almost ‘round the clock – and disinfecting the bathrooms.

As The Sickies became temporarily strong enough to venture forth from their bedrooms, they migrated to the kitchen, opened the refrigerator, cased the shelves, groaned, and headed into the family room. Joanie believed their food curiosity was based less on hunger and more on habit. They were a sorry bunch. During lulls in the illness’s more dramatic moments, The Twins colored at the kitchen counter and watched children’s programs on the small television. Matt paged through books he felt he should read to be well-informed but it was all his head could do to wrap itself around magazine short articles. The Teens spent their ambulatory minutes text messaging. The Far Flungers sprawled in the family room watching old movies.

By New Year’s Eve, whatever bug had laid everyone low died off, and one by one, the family and the Far Flungers embraced their real but weakened selves. The Next Door Neighbors (both sides) arrived with bowls and platters of their party specialties. The Far Flungers, old friends with The Neighbors, mixed up their infamous punch. The Teens’ best friends took over the walkout cellar with CDs, dancing, and ping-pong. The Twins stayed up until 9:30. Everyone else, including The Teens, watched the ball drop. The Neighbors and The Teens hung around another hour before wending their way home, The Neighbors quietly, The Teens with much blaring of horns. The Far Flungers hugged Joanie and Matt and headed for the guestroom.

At the kitchen counter, Joanie and Matt sipped coffee. They marveled that the New Year’s Eve gathering even got to happen.

"Joanie," Matt said, "How did you escape from getting sick?"

Joanie smiled. "I think I discovered a secret weapon. Every so often during the day and if I were up with The Twins during the night, I ate a bite of cheesecake."

"You what? Cheesecake?!"

"Shhhh. Don’t wake up everybody! All week I ran around here like a chicken with her head cut off. Y’know that expression about using a lemon to make lemonade? Well, cheesecake was my version of lemonade."

"Is their any left?"

"Sorry! One bite led to another .. ."

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