It was a Dark and Story Christmas Night....

Author's Note: Every year, Nicole and I go back to the MidWest for Christmas, stopping first at Ohio to visit my parents and then driving up to Michigan to see her parents. And every year, it is an adventure. Last year, we got caught in the biggest blizzard in the 184 years since they've been keeping meterological records, when 24-inches came down in 2 days. You can read about those exploits here and here.

This year, our entire family was ravaged by a savage 24-hour virus, that got me, my mom, Nicole and Justus. Three trips to Urgent Care, one 3 a.m. run to the ER, and three shots later, we all made it. But I don't think a family gathering has had more bodily fluids. It was pretty bad. This is the story.

OPERATION BLACK CHRISTMAS

None of us knew what fate waited for us on the beaches of the Beaver Creek. Our company - the Tieche 408th out of San Jose - thought it was flying into port Ohio for a routine holiday visit with Nana and Papa. On Saturday 12/17, we flew 3,000 miles to Columbus, thinking the worst adversary we might have to meet would be Celine Dion's These Are Special Times Christmas album. We packed lightly, arrived ahead of schedule, ate some cookies, drank some milk and slept the sleep of the jet-lagged. Things were going well.

Maybe too well.

SUNDAY, 17:00 HOURS
I was the first to fall. I didn't even see it coming, but how could I, seeing as how the Enemy was about 1/100th the size of human skin cell. About 17:00 hours, I got very tired. We were opening some gifts for Junior Officer Justus, and I was sitting in my father's beige leather barca-lounger. Next thing I knew, it was 20:00 hours, and there were decorations strewn about everywhere - clearly the work of my zealous Junior Officer. Clearly, there had been a Christmas, and I had blacked out. I attirubuted it to the stress of the new time zone, but back in my mind, my Spider Sense was a-tinglin. This wasn't right - my gut told me so.

Later that night, my gut told me some more stories. Stories about viruses - big, nasty bugs that caused high fevers and intestinal cramping. Not the kind of stories I like to hear. Later, I shared those stories with my friend, Dr. Porcelin. He was flushed with excitement and asked if I could get him some samples of this virus to test in his subterrean lab, simply called "The Tank." I obliged. Three times an hour for the next couple of hours. It took a lot out of me, but when you are a soldier, you don't think of the sacrifice.

The Virus was on to me, and began roughing me up, from the inside out. My temp raced to 103, and I had to call in backup. The Medivac - also known as Hertz Rental Car Chevy Maxx - took me to UrgentCare, where Nurse Practicioner pulled out a needle and gave me the code name. Ben Dover. I cringed at the syringe, but knew the virus was going to have the worst of it.

I was right. Two blue pills and 24 hours later, I was sipping 7-up on my way to health.

TUESDAY
My Junior Officer wasn't so lucky. Apparently, we'd been inflitrated by more than just one rogue team of bugs. They'd gotten to him too. And if he was at risk, that put the rest of the 408th at Code Red Alert, too - especially Senior Master Sargeant T-Mama. At the suggestion of our base commanders, my superior officers Papa and Nana, we began Operation Clorox Hand Wipes. But we were playing defense. This bug had us in its sights, and now was just playing with us.

Junior Officer needed H20, and he needed it ASAP. Unfortunately, he was too busy upchucking and turning his white Huggies fatigues into a runny-shade of camouflage to keep much liquid down. After 12 hours without any signs of PP, we began to worry. At 0300, long before dawn, we stole away in the Medivac to the Children's Medical Center, to get him some fluids. The doc there was a gem. Dr. Johnson, they called him. Kevin Johnson. I asked him if his number was 7, and if he used to play guard for the Suns. He said the only thing he guarded now was against acute cases of gastroenteritis. Which Junior had. Along with a pretty bad inner ear infection. One shot in the thigh for the ear and 3 ounces of Pedialyte later, we were going back to the Nest. Junior was out, but not down for the count. We thought we were out of the woods, but the forest was just beginning.

WEDNESDAY
On D-Day +3, T-Mama and Nana got hit, and hit hard. First, the bug got them from the South. Then, it got 'em from the North. I'd go into detail, but the tail is exactly where you don't want to be in explosive battles like this. The V-bug was winning, and winning big. And if I didn't do something soon, I was going to be cleaning up messes all day.

I took T-Mama in the MediVac to another UrgentCare. The Bug was powerful, but not smart. The same offensive manuevers that worked in the Battle of My Midway worked on her. Operation Phenergan. Code Name: Ben Dover. Same Pose, Different Needle. Two blue pills, two orange popsicles, and 24 hours later, we were lounging, watching Season 1 of Lost.

FRIDAY
It's Friday, and we're all back on solid foods now, except for Junior, who still prefers his food from the tap, anyway. I can'te remember the last time he didn't drink his dinner, if you know what I mean. We learned an important lesson from this, though. Christmas cookies are best eaten, not tossed. We hope we don't have to learn that one again for a long time.

Until next year: over and out.