September, 2012.

A new feature here on Fridays to make use of the abundance of photos I have stored away (or like this one, previously published here) that I love dearly. Linked of course with short sentiments that grow alongside all these aging photos. Some funny. Some sad. Some downright embarrassing. 

I came across this post from our trip to Yosemite a few days ago while trying to reorganize some aspects of this space here and paused to reread the warm accounts of the weekend we spent fishing with Arlo, and tossing rocks in the lake with Rex and Leon, boat rides with grandpa, and that cozy cabin in the woods where we napped by the fire and gave baths to little boys with broken legs in a small metal kitchen sink.

What I didn't include - for fear of sounding like a total lunatic back then - was the fright I faced upon returning from that trip having visited Yosemite days after the the Hanta Virus broke major news when those families all came down with it from the deer mice infested in the walls of those cute little canvas tarped A- Frame tents in the park.

To make matters worse, I had in fact spotted a dead mouse in one of the drawers in the cabin upon arrival. The vision that would leap back to me with a vengeance in the front seat of our jeep at a gas station on the way back home when I saw Rex in his car seat looking flushed and peaked. Runny nose, glassy eyes, and the start of a dull fever at his forehead.

It took me no longer than 8 minutes to diagnose him with the dreaded Hanta. Symptoms lining up with warning signs online. The dead mouse, responsible for what I assumed to be infected droppings. The Yosemite exposure. All adding up to one terrible virus to return home to try and overcome. I sat stiff with fear, stuck with tears having worked myself up into a frenzy on the ride back home. The reality of my poor sick son. The vacation that would forever be remembered as THE ONE that made him ill. Where all I could sees was us cooped up in sterile white rooms in foreign hospitals quarantined from the rest of the world, and afraid.

Turns out it was just a head cold. He was up and running around in 2 days. Cast and all. And as frightful as it was, it's quite laughable looking back if only because of how it stacks another tale to a collection of rare diagnosis's I've made throughout the years for each of my ailing family members. Many times landing on the heels of a long vacation. I won't even get started on my sick obsession with the fresh water parasites either.

Point being: Google isn't the best for people like me. Where at two in the morning I'm prone to conclude that we're all doomed and dying after research symptom kicks into overkill. But the trip was lovely. The cast came off. And no one every suffered through the bowls of a deadly mice induced disease. And for that, I am forever grateful for.