We went to my childhood home to celebrate my birthday before the cold set in. Three of us came back ill. Here is how it went.
The last trip before winter
We visit my childhood home every summer and usually manage at least one autumn trip before it gets too cold. The house is uninsulated – in previous years we could close off half the rooms and heat just the part we were using, but with five of us now that is no longer possible. This was going to be our last visit of the year.
My childhood friend was there too with her family – her five-year-old daughter, her six-month-old son, her husband and her mother. Ms’s summer best friend, which was reason enough for the trip as far as Ms was concerned. We arrived first and they were not there yet.
And then I got sick.
Day one: the floor, the bathroom, and B
I will not dwell on the details. I was ill from the moment we arrived – vomiting, running to the bathroom every ten minutes, completely out of action. I spent the entire day in bed with B, who is four months old and needed nursing regardless of how I felt. My partner was left with Ms, who is four, and Mr, who is two and has Down syndrome.
He did not take them outside, which I still do not fully understand given how much easier that would have made the day for everyone. The noise and arguing carried through the walls. By some collective effort we made it to evening, and when I finally felt well enough to stand we all went for a short walk together. The fresh air was restorative in the way that fresh air always is when you have been horizontal all day.
My birthday, more or less
The next morning the food I had ordered arrived and my friend came over with the children. The girls played. I put the boys down for their nap and the other family walked the ten minutes home. My partner had left in the morning and came back in the evening.
My friend’s five-year-old had drawn me a card. The package they brought had my favourite sweets and a pair of socks – I had asked for socks specifically, because they wear out fast when you are walking around the countryside in rubber boots, and I was genuinely pleased with this. It is the kind of gift that shows someone actually listened.
That evening I went to their place with the boys. My partner came too. We ate, listened to music, and I had a few sips of wine – carefully timed around nursing, which at this stage is a little more predictable than it was in the early weeks. B no longer nurses every hour the way he did as a newborn. Afterwards my partner drove Ms and Mr home and I walked back with B in the pram. A birthday, more or less. It counted.
The illness spreads
The next day we walked Ms over to spend the day with her friend. They went to a garden with my friend’s mother – apparently a magical kind of place with flowers and sculptures and mountains of coloured stones, like something from a storybook. Ms came back glowing about it.
Mr, meanwhile, had gotten sick. He spent the day lying flat on the floor, vomiting several times, completely still in the way that only truly unwell children are. A relative came to visit for my birthday, brought flowers and cake, talked with us – and Mr lay on the floor the entire time and did not move.
Then my friend called in the evening. Ms had been sick on the way back from the garden. I went immediately to get her.
My partner thinks it was the well water – it had been standing too long without being drawn and something had gotten into it. He and B were the only ones who did not get sick. My partner did not drink from the well. B drinks only breast milk. That pattern seems fairly conclusive.
The night I would rather forget
What followed was one of the harder nights I have had in recent memory, and recent memory includes a newborn and a potty-training toddler.
B woke to nurse. Then Ms cried. I ran to her, and she leaned over the edge of the bed and was sick before I could get anything in place. She settled briefly and then it happened again. And again. All of this without running water, without a washing machine – just a bucket, cold water from the well, and whatever I could manage in the dark.
By morning I had a bag full of clothes and bedding and a very clear sense of what we were doing that day. We packed everything, loaded the car, and left.
The drive home, via everywhere
Halfway home we stopped at a shopping centre. Ms needed gymnastics shoes for her dance class at nursery and I could not buy them without trying them on her feet, so there was no way around it. We also stopped for soup, which went about as well as soup goes with a sick four-year-old and an active two-year-old in a restaurant. Then we stopped at the grandparents – it was Grandparents’ Day, and we were not going to miss it entirely. We brought food and my partner’s father came back with us.
Having him there for four hours while I got on with things was genuinely valuable. I nursed B, did two loads of washing, unpacked five bags, dealt with outstanding emails and bills. The kind of tasks that had been accumulating and that I could finally actually do with someone else watching the children.
Recovery, and the return to normal
The days since have been slower. Ms has been staying with the grandparents during the day – she asked to go and I said yes without hesitation. My partner brings her home in the evenings. The childminder is back helping with Mr in the mornings. Life is finding its shape again.
That was our last trip to my childhood home this year. It was not what I planned – sick, celebrating and surviving is not quite the birthday weekend I had imagined. But we were all there, more or less upright for most of it, and Ms got her days with her summer friend, and I got my socks and my card and a few sips of wine. It counts.
You are not alone.
If this story resonated with you and you’d like to go deeper, you can explore my e-book Our Journey – A Different Path. It offers honest reflections and lived experience beyond this post.
If you’re looking for practical support, I’ve created Routine Templates to help parents and children navigate daily life with more clarity, structure, and understanding.
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