As a mom, I knew getting sick was a big deal when I woke up one morning so dizzy I coudn't get out of bed. Tenzin was six months old. I lay there obsessed with what would happen if I couldn't take care of him. If I became incapacitated for a week, a month, a year.

If I died.

I made a pact to be there for him as long as he needs me, I thought to myself. I have to hold up my part of the bargain.

I felt a twinge of the bug yesterday, but brushed it off. I was tired. I had been in the sun. I was working too hard. I had eaten some questionable lasagna. But then I woke up this morning unable to think clearly. Dreading writing the simplest emails.

As my head pounded, I initiated an argument (I mean discussion) with my guy about the leap of faith black women have to take to support both Obama, and Clinton too. He cited Cointelpro and I cited Soul on Ice. He cited the way the white power structure has cleaved the relationship between black men and women. I cited the way black men who don't critique their own sexism have cleaved the relationship between black men and women.

It's a conversation we've had a thousand times in a thousand different ways. We usually navigate it well and come out stronger, convinced our partnership is part of the solution. I said I was going to vote for Hillary because if my own partner can't articulate a critique of sexism in the civil rights movement, how is Obama going to do better?

It was the worst way possible to start the day.

Then I read an article in the Times about bloggers dropping dead from blogging too much. Then another about people stocking food and water for six weeks in anticipation of civil unrest. Then I happened upon a feminist law professor's blog, where one disgruntled poster wrote that she "has tried hard not to loathe Rebecca Walker." Apparently without success.

It was the worst possible way to continue the day.

I began to ruminate on what I would do if we were hit with an act of bio-terrorism. A Chinese invasion. The collapse of the economy. I have no hydroponic kit to grow food. The six-pack of Evian in the trunk of my car probably won't do the trick.

My man, hunkered down in his office working on a project about Cambodia, reminded me that things always look bleak when I'm sick. He took the baby. I took myself back to bed. I read a little bit. Took a nap. Ate some almonds. Drank some juice. Made a short list of the countries we could live in if it comes to that.

I started to feel better. I remembered I'm not alone. We have friends, each other, a spiritual practice. I remembered that I'm alive today and believe in tomorrow. I remembered there's room in the basement for gas masks and canned goods.

But mostly I remembered the pact I made to show up for my child. That was the magic bullet that got me back on track, at least mentally.

Whatever happens, I know one thing: I'll be holding up my end of the mama bargain.

How do you get through your sick days?

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