In the spirit of a famous very bad day, some vacations are like that

Have you ever read “Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day“? Here’s a short excerpt:

“I went to sleep with gum in my mouth and now there’s gum in my hair and when I got out of bed this morning I tripped on the skateboard and by mistake I dropped my sweater in the sink while the water was running and I could tell it was going to be a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day. … My mom says some days are like that.”

Consider that foreshadowing for what follows, in the spirit of the book.

We just returned from our boys’ favorite week of the year, Cousin Camp. It’s always a labor-intensive week for us because of my son Jonah’s epidermolysis bullosa and the care it demands, but it’s worth it because all of the family’s cousins have a chance to get together at the beach.

This year, however, there were no cousins. Right before we left, I got COVID-19, and that was only the beginning.

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First, my throat got scratchy, so I decided to take a COVID-19 test, which turned out positive and ruined all our plans. My husband, Matt, had said that I needed to start quarantining a week before vacation because it’s always me who gets sick. I gave him murder eyes and almost sought a divorce because, as I said, “Sorry, babe, I’ll make sure not to go galavanting off to work next time” and “why do you say dumb man-things?”

I drove separately to the beach, but my directions took me a really stupid way and Jonah called and was like, “Mom, why are you on a different highway?” and “That isn’t even the way to the beach,” and I was like, “Why are you even calling me from the healthy car?” and “Everybody just leave me alone.”

We got there and told the extended family our plan to COVID-test the boys every morning so they could be with their cousins. Some didn’t approve of the plan, so they were sad and we were mad and now I wasn’t just snotty, but grumpy too.

Back on the home front

The next morning, our house sitter texted to say the power had gone out, and when it came back on, the well pump didn’t, so there was no water. We paid an electrician to go out and tell us that the problem was Duke Power’s fault. We needed to cut the power to our house until Duke Power could get out there, and no, they didn’t know when that would be. It was record hot, but we had to voluntarily turn off the air conditioning.

I woke up at 5 a.m., realizing I’d forgotten to ask the house sitter to take Jonah’s dupilumab (also known as Dupixent) out of our turned-off fridge and move it to her house. If the electricity didn’t get fixed soon, the medication would be ruined. To get more, I’d have to fly to Chicago because they wouldn’t ship it.

Duke Power came out and fixed the problem, and the medication, thankfully, had remained cool enough so I could stop crying and pacing. When the house sitter flipped the breaker, the water came on — but the air conditioner didn’t. The house was 82 degrees and rising. I called my dad, who drove a half hour to my house, fixed the air conditioner, and left. We were all like, “Hooray, we’ve been here for two days with no peace, but maybe we can relax now.”

But then the house sitter called again and said that the air conditioner had only worked for a few minutes before cutting back off. I again called my dad, who’d driven all the way home, and was like, “This is never going to end. I don’t even know if I should call Duke Power, the electrician, or an HVAC guy.”

Meanwhile, Matt texted me from the beach to say a seagull had pooped on his arm and that “the white part of the poop hit my arm, but the brown part got on my shirt.” Then, while I was talking to my dad and texting Matt, I stepped in gum.

I said to Dad, “I just stepped in gum and Matt got pooped on, and can you please just go back to my house and tell me what we need to do because I’m four hours away and I don’t even know what to do.” Dad said he’d go, but also something about “things could be worse” and to be thankful for our blessings, which felt like another dumb man-thing to say.

So three days into “vacation,” my dad and his poor wife went to my sizzling house and were finally able to fix the air conditioning. I’m sorry I said you said a dumb man-thing, Dad.

So besides our no-cousin Cousin Camp and Matt and the boys eventually all getting COVID-19, the rest of the week went OK.

Apparently, some vacations are like that.

Note: Epidermolysis Bullosa News is strictly a news and information website about the disease. It does not provide medical advice, diagnosis, or treatment. This content is not intended to be a substitute for professional medical advice, diagnosis, or treatment. Always seek the advice of your physician or other qualified health provider with any questions you may have regarding a medical condition. Never disregard professional medical advice or delay in seeking it because of something you have read on this website. The opinions expressed in this column are not those of Epidermolysis Bullosa News or its parent company, Bionews, and are intended to spark discussion about issues pertaining to epidermolysis bullosa.