My little birdies in a nest, January 2013

I know part of being a human is having interactions, shall we say, with some of the less-desirable organisms that exist. Part of our role in this world is being a host to other creatures. I get that, biologically.

You probably think I’m talking about lice. I’m not. Though I live in fear of those little buggers every time I (infrequently) wash Elan’s hair in the bath and spend 10 minutes combing through it, reassuring myself that the little flakes on the comb are in fact dandruff.

No, there are more exotic parasites in my house these days.

By the way, every time I say the word “parasite” in public, I feel like people take two steps backward. You know it’s not like having the flu, right? You’re not going to catch my parasite by touching the doorknob I just touched, at least not if we’re all observing some decent level of hygiene that is expected by those over the age of 3.

Yeah, I said my parasite.

It started with a dear family member, who came down with what appeared to be a stomach bug about 10 days after visiting us. At this same time, I came down with what appeared to be a stomach bug, and we discussed on the phone the irony of having the same illness despite the hundreds of miles that were separating us.

I was sick for a month. After 2 weeks, I went to the doctor and she said, “It’s a virus! Go to bed!” So I did. But, even after spending 3 days in bed, it still took me another 2 weeks to recover from the “virus.” I figured I was run down. (I had a respiratory virus simultaneously, as did my dear family member, in another strange turn of bad luck.) I figured I was working too much, too stressed, and staying up too late at night (all of which were true).

My family member didn’t get better. We were worried. Then the results of some tests came back, along with the answer: giardia.

Giardia?!? Mikhail and I said, looking at each other incredulously.

Giardia! We said, looking at our dear, sweet, little 2-year-old child sitting in his high chair.

Emry has always been on the small side. While the phrase “failure to thrive” has never been directly applied to him, let’s just say it’s been uttered in his pediatrician’s office, with him present. Many months ago (I’m frankly embarrassed to admit exactly how many, but sometime around mid-2012), we discussed with his doctor the possibility that he might have some kind of digestive issue (we were worried about wheat allergy or gluten intolerance), and she recommended doing a bevy of tests just to see. Mikhail and I agreed it was a good idea, but somehow the idea of getting 6 vials of blood taken out of a 2-year-old’s arm made me just a tad bit resistant to actually getting said tests done. Okay, so he wasn’t 2 yet, but I’m a wimp about getting blood taken out of my own arm, much less the tiny veins of my tiny guy.

And Emry was growing, just not as much as we would have liked. He wasn’t falling off the growth charts, but he was barely holding on with his fingernails. So, in November, the pediatrician filled out a fresh set of lab orders for me, since I had intentionally misplaced forgotten where I put the original ones. Then Mikhail and I decided that November is practically January, and our FSA account, which was down to zero, would be replenished in January, so we would wait until January to do the tests.

I don’t remember exactly why I made sure of this, but I made sure that giardia was on the second set of lab orders. After all, Mikhail and I have both had giardia while traveling and living in South America. I know about its existence. And, while I will spare you the gory details, I know the symptoms, some of which Emry seems to have on a semi-regular basis.

Then my dear family member got sick. And I got sick.

And those lab tests seemed a lot more urgent all the sudden.

So it turns out, Emry has giardia.

And it turns out, so do Mikhail and I.

Oops.

Jury’s still out on whether my entire family is infected, as we’re waiting to hear the results of Elan’s test.

How did this happen? people ask me, after they’ve taken their two steps backward.

Well, see, that’s the mystery. It’s actually possible that Mikhail and I have had giardia since we lived in Peru, oh, about 7 years ago. 7 years! This makes me want to laugh hysterically. This would mean that my digestive system would be decidedly third world. And it does make a gal wonder — could the ongoing presence of a parasite have anything to do with my horrific morning sickness over 3 pregnancies?

I’m fairly certain that we’ll never know exactly where it came from or how long we’ve all had it, except enough to know that it’s possible to have chronic rather than acute versions of this particular bugger.

And now all the diagnosed people in the house have dropped the equivalent of antibiotic bombs on our stomaches, so hopefully it will be eradicated from the familial unit soon. (She says with an optimism she’s not quite sure she actually possesses, while in bed from general blech feeling two days after said antibiotic bomb dropping.)

Meanwhile, Mikhail looked up yesterday and noticed our gallery of beautiful hand-woven textiles we brought back from South America is being devoured by moth larvae.

And I’ve finally gotten control, for the moment, of The Ant Invasion, which was kicked off by my accidental consumption of an Argentine-ant-laced bite of banana muffin. Turns out, ants are incredibly bitter. Who knew?