At least that is what I said in my head. On the phone I responded with appropriate grief but reassured her we would be OK.
And I ask you dear reader, what could go wrong? My 3 year old got sick that morning in his crib, I got sick on the side of the road almost 2 hours earlier, and now my 6 six year old has gotten sick at school.
Scenarios rush through my mind quickly to fix this problem. I land on one. It’s solid. Secure. It will work.
“I’ll get Mom to go get Knox from school and she can just go ahead and get Emma also. And I’ll see if my mom will take Dylan and Emma home with her until I get Knox over the hump.”
Bethany is still clueless about me getting sick less than 2 hours ago.
My mom has agreed to take Dylan and Emma with her. They are excited about hanging out at GiGi and DiDi’s house and spending the night there. I pack their things – and it was painful because my stomach hurt and every joint ached. Plus Knox was going to get sick any moment. They leave.
Knox and I watch Spider-man when I am not emptying the Tupperware bowl. He is getting sick about every 15 minutes. He is so thirsty. And sad.
Like I pointed out earlier, our 3 year old had this same bug earlier in the week. His pediatrician called in some Zofran for him. We had one left over. So I thought I might as well give it a whirl.
The Zofran was a small pill meant to be held under the tongue. Hello? That’s gonna make a healthy Knox gag! So of course, that’s exactly what happens when I give it to him. It had no time to dissolve before going into the bowl.
But I wait and hope to see if it did any good…for 15 minutes.
Aaaaaaaaaand it did no good. At all.
Knox has not stopped getting sick. He looks worn down. The Zofran was my own personal chimera.
At this point I begin to to think about the unthinkable. I begin contemplating a remedy I can hardly bear to think about. You see, I have a queasy stomach. I don’t do well in hospitals. My skin crawls very, very easily. Not sure why, just does.
But I’m getting worried for Knox. And I’m tired of watching him suffer so, every 15 minutes.
So I get on the Internet. I call my friend, the doctor. And then I decide to do it.
I go to the fridge and take out the…suppositories.
Let’s just say I made it through the unpleasant experience. Knox was a trooper. But all my promises – given to him as seeds of hope he would get better never found purchase.
Right after I give him the suppository, Bethany sends me a text telling me she is not feeling too good and asking if I would pray for her.
Bethany sends me another text from the place they are staying at the beach –
“I think I’m going to be sick!”
She still has no idea what is going on back home. Now is not the time to tell her.
The suppository always works. Always. And….and the unpleasantness of the experience is supposed to be offset by the surety of it all stopping. At this point I decide to call the pediatrician. I get a receptionist who listens to my pain.
“Who is your child’s doctor?” is her response.
(To be continued)
Part 3 here