100% Contagion, Disaster and Day-to-Day Life

On Victoria Day weekend, my daughter came down with a cold. It sucked, she was a trooper and she eventually got better. Then my nephew got sick, then my niece, then I got sick, then my Mom, then my wife. Two weeks after the Victoria Day weekend, four of us are sick. Two are well. Of the six people in question, 100% of them got sick. So far, that 100% contagion. My daughters fellow students haven't dropped like flies, so the 100% rating is limited to our extended family. It's a good thing that some diseases don't hit 100% contagion.
The definition of disaster is when an organism is overwhelmed by circumstances. My wife and I lean on my Mom for the care of our daughter. With my Mom down for the count, we have to take care of our own child (egads, the thought of it). I lost two days of work this week. One day, I spent with my daughter; and one day, I took her to school at noon. The day at home was mellow and okay. The next day was the disaster. She was well enough to go to school. I hit a point, were was sick enough to pass out. I didn't want to pass out on my daughter, so I called my Mom to come up, take her and leave me to collide with the floor in peace. My Mom was too sick and she was tending to my sick nephew. So, I kept Alice around until noon, tried to pull things together so I could take her to school. My internal bargain: hold it together until I had Alice safely deposited at school. Then go home, collapse and hope it all works out. If she were around, I would have to be alert. If I risked being very sick, I had the chance to be sick in peace.
When I was a first aid attendant at a department store, I used to see people collapsed or busted up who came out to do some shopping. Didn't they get a warning sign? Weren't the shooting pains or the intense headache or the dizzyness a warning sign? Their errands were so important, that they would rather risk their lives and end up with a department store schmoe hooking them up with oxygen rather than stay at home or go into a hospital.
Our day-to-day life is such a set of cogs that we get caught in the gears. Do we keep going even though we can't continue? We're not storming the beaches of Normandy; or trying to stay awake at NORAD; or racing armloads of orphans out of a burning building. Why can't we can't just say, "it's not that important"; and sit out a round or be there for other people?

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