April - May 2002 Edition

Survivor:  The Fair Lawn Experience   By Rich Paganello   I had a big week planned: activities with my children, plans with my wife, traveling to see relatives. The weekend started innocently enough. Friday night with the family, then a Saturday Devils game with my sons.    It was at this point that my oldest started complaining about how cold he was. Sure enough we got home and he had a very high fever -- scratch dinner, dancing, and the visit to the relatives. We watched him closely and determined that it was indeed the flu. The next day, my younger son went down with the same symptoms. Two down, three to go.    Monday broke cool and clear. With a smile on my face and a spring in my step I worked out and came home to get ready for the day. Then it hit. Like a tidal wave it threw me mercilessly into my bed: four down, one to go.    But this one was the member we could least afford to lose. She is the center of the universe, the guiding light, the source of all that is good and fair, we call this member, the “provider”. There is only one given per family. I knew deep in my soul that as long as the provider was ok then I would survive.    I was good to the provider prior to my illness. I made the necessary sacrifices (babysitting, making the bed, closing the lid). I made contributions to the gods of skinnyness, shoes, hair color and most importantly the god of child behavior. All went for naught. She became infected like the rest of us.   One could only imagine five people in their house all curled up in the fetal position shivering under seven blankets. Unable to eat, stand, read, or complain I felt lost in a sea of tissue and Nyquil. I grabbed the nearest cat and brought her screaming to my bed for warmth.    But the provider was now down for the eight count and I was called onto action. The family had to be fed, clothed and played with. The effort was Herculean and the pain unbearable. Phlegm, diarrhea, vomit and ten thousand other hurdles faced me as I awoke each day thinking that this what hell must be like. It felt like some sort of religious experience. I vowed to my creator that I would change my ways, maybe not even yell anymore at my kids.    But just as I thought that all was lost I (I would have to stand mute as my children whined uncontrollably) and that I would not able to wipe another child’s bottom, I slowly felt better. As the days passed I found myself growing stronger and stronger until finally, after scaring the mailman half to death( he thought that the Taliban were attacking Fair Lawn) I mustered up all the energy it took and shaved. I dropped to my knees and raised my hands to the heavens and exhorted all types of incantations and then, crying out in relief that I was indeed alive and that I could still yell at my kids …..   Next year, I'm getting the flu shot.       ----------------------------------------------------------------------       Submit your own story.  Send an e- mail to editor@fairlawnnews.com