Home with a sick child

Having had a bad run of sicknesses this winter (including some that I thought only occurred in Victorian novels: sweating, hallucinations/dreams, fevers, etc), I thought we were at the end of it all when spring in the the southern hemisphere finally arrived. 

But no.

Yet another bout came on Friday:
(Phone ringing)
Me: Hello?
School lady: Kelly? It's Judy.  Ned's just vomited all over the classroom floor. (Curtly) Can you come and get him please?
Me: Just after I finish my round of golf.  I'm on the back nine as we speak.

Anyone with a child in school knows that you under NO circumstances piss-off the lovely Admin ladies that keep the whole school ticking over.  If she says you're missing a sick note, you write one on your last check if you have to.  If she says come now, you come now, even if George Clooney has just bought a bottle of Cristal Rose for the two of you to share.  Luckily, I was close by, because vomiting + classroom full of students = evacuate the biohazard area ASAP and quarentine for the lucky vomiter.

I hope this is the end.  My weekend was spent washing sheet, towels, clothes, bodies and hands, OH! the hands.  My hands do not look like they've been soaking in Palmolive, but in lye. (Can you botox your hands?) The house is wiped out of disinfectant. Let's hope I've contained whatever this is.