Illness stripped joy from holiday

It wasn’t supposed to happen this way.

The joy of the season was gone.

In early December, Baby Schanz got sick and missed a day of day care. The bug that got her eventually made its way to me, but it wasn’t anything too serious.

I had some chest congestion — something I seemingly get each year, now — and my seasonal sore throat. I figured after about a week or so I’d be in the clear and ready for our daughter’s first conscious Christmas holiday.

(While technically her second Christmas, it was to be the first where she’d actually be excited for the tree and have an idea of what the gifts under it were about.)

The week passed. The illness didn’t.

On Dec. 19, I started feeling a little off. I wasn’t able to finish my lunch, and for the remainder of the workday my stomach just felt a bit uneasy.

That night, the first round started.

Fever. Chills. Shivers. Muscle aches. Cold sweats. Headache. Pounding chest.

I took a COVID-19 test and it was negative. Tylenol and rest should do the trick, right?

I missed work the next day, and stayed home the remainder of the week — though continued to work — so I wouldn’t infect my coworkers before the holidays.

I shook the fever, improved over the weekend, and was anticipating a great Christmas week.

But then Chrissy began to take a turn.

My nephew contracted COVID, a fever made its way through his home and we eventually canceled our family Christmas gathering, which was set for Christmas Eve.

It was unfortunate because my family hadn’t gotten together in a while for various reasons. We were all looking forward to getting together for the holiday, but sicknesses threw a wrench into those plans.

Our household managed to be A-OK by Christmas Day, so we had our own festivities. My wife and I had a blast bringing the presents from the basement and putting them under the tree for Baby Schanz, even going to the extreme of rearranging them a bunch of times based on what we wanted her to see or play with first.

Since our daughter had been sleeping in bed with us for the better part of a month, which is a story for another column, our plan was to have her stay in bed with her mom while I turned the tree lights on, prepped coffee and then sat on the couch to record her reaction when she came into the living room and saw the tree.

Her look was priceless when she saw a plush rocking horse that she went to immediately. 

We continued to record videos of her opening her gifts to share with our family so they could see her reaction. It’s a memory my wife and I will certainly never forget.

Then, the day after Christmas, my fever returned. So too did the headaches, chills and cold sweats.

More Tylenol, and a day later the fever was gone. I thought I felt OK.

Boy, was I wrong.

That Sunday, I had a fever again. The headache was the worst it had been, so much so that a handful of rogue headbutts from my daughter caused so much pain it put me in tears.

Finally, last week, I manned up and went to urgent care to get some antibiotics. The doctor said I probably got hit by two separate afflictions.

I can — knock on wood — say the antibiotics worked and I’m finally healthy again.

My family is on the mend, too, and we’ve rescheduled our holiday festivities.

This year’s Christmas holiday was supposed to be full of joy. Instead, it was void of any holly-jolly feelings. Thinking back, I was ill last year, too.

We just hope the third Christmas as a dad won’t follow the same trend.