Friday, July 16th 2010
Rough Morning with Caden-6yr

When the guy taking my groceries out to my car asked how my day was, I lied. I said it was a “great day.” I most certainly did not tell him that I’ve thrown up repeatedly, including once directly into my purse – and that I am not even sick. Despite the lack of honesty, I think this was the right move, conversationally.

It started yesterday. Caden-6yr had sinus infection like symptoms and they got worse through the night until he (and neither Mike nor I) could sleep at all. His head hurt a LOT – and Caden-6yr is a trooper who isn’t known for complaining. (Unless he thinks it’s funny or dramatic, and yes I DO know where he gets that tendency.) Then he started throwing up.  All night. All morning. All day.

Mike is better with this sort of symptom, BY FAR. He knows this, I know this, and if you’ve read here for long, then YOU also know this. And yet, somehow, in our seriously sleep deprived status, we somehow decided that I would take Caden-6yr to the doctor and Mike would take the other non-vomiting children out on other errands.

This was a large-ish mistake.

Caden-6yr chose to wear a shirt, shorts, a deep purple terrycloth robe with a planetary theme, and lion feet slippers on his feet. He accessorized with a white trash can that was less for fashion and more for function. Unfortunately.

We set off down backroads toward the little town just outside of town that has our favorite clinic. It’s out of town, but with far less of a wait usually.  Caden-6yr needs his trashcan five minutes after we leave. I cannot handle the sight, sound, or smell, or thought of this. I’m driving 60 miles an hour and there are cotton fields on either side and I can’t slam on the brakes and pull over or who knows what will happen to the contents of that trashcan. But I really need to slam on the brakes. So I throw up in my purse instead.

I liked that purse.

Caden-6yr is handling everything better than I am and I toss him wipes and we keep going. And it happens again. This time, I refuse to look in the rearview mirror and start in on this really freaky prayer. I don’t know if it made sense. I don’t think it mattered. God and I both knew that prayer was about me distracting myself from the backseat and little else. It worked. Ah, the power of prayer. I wish I’d tried it the first time. My purse wishes I’d tried it the first time.

We get to the clinic and Caden-6yr walks in, wearing a purple robe and lion feet slippers, a trashcan, and an expression that is heartbreaking. He’s beyond exhausted.  There’s one other person in the waiting room, and he moves far away as soon as we enter. Good move.  Caden-6yr instantly falls asleep in my lap.

Mike texts me a photo of Seth-4yr grinning over a pancake breakfast with chocolate chips and whipped cream. It’s darling. I text Mike a photo of Caden-6yr and his trashcan.

We get back to the exam room and Caden-6yr uses his trashcan. I open the door to air everything out and hop up and down to distract myself while saying what might be sympathetic, mothering statements except the would-be sympathetic mother is jumping up and down in place and looking the opposite direction and gasping for fresh air in the hall,  which somehow seems neither sympathetic nor motherly. It just seems weird. Also? I was not wearing the right shoes for that.

I wash out the trashcan in the bathroom and get sick. Just can’t help it.

I come back and Caden-6yr asks why one of my legs is green and one of them is brown. I look down. I do not see the difference. I do not think either of my legs is green or brown. I do not say this.  My mother and I both are known to hallucinate when we have fevers and this child has a fever. Then he asks me what’s wrong with my eyebrows. “One of them is straight and one of them is bent,” he says.  ”And they look weird.”

“Baby, it may just be that I’m made that way. With weird looking eyebrows.”

He blinks a few times and his face, says, “Ooooh, sorry. I  hope not.”

He’s lying on the examination table, with no energy at all, and is coming up with detailed critiques of what is wrong with my appearance and I totally get the giggles and flop over and lose it because hello? I’ve vomited into a handbag while driving 60 mph, I’ve screamed incoherent prayers, and I’ve jumped up and down in an all out fit of denial this morning and yet none of those are on the list of things he’s critiquing about me. I must be doing some serious things wrong.  But he gives a weak smile when he sees how much he’s made me laugh, and that’s worth something.  The laughing hurts my stomach muscles which are already hurting for obvious other reasons.

I send a text to Mike asking how we decided I would be here with puke and he would be there with whipped cream pancakes.

“I don’t remember,” is the texted reply. And after the night we all had, and his usual chivalrous attitude towards being the responsible parent nearest the puke, I believe him. I don’t remember, either.

Caden-6yr is pronounced sinus infected and dehydrated and adorable and we are dismissed. We make it to the curb and then sit on the sidewalk in front of the car, clutching the trashcan between us, with intent to use.

We’re sitting in front of a sausage business – one where all the hunters take their dead animals for ‘processing.’ I’m thinking Caden-6yr and I are WAY bad for business, even with the lion foot slippers. It’s hard to work up any remorse over this, though.

Around the corner from where we sit is a bakery that sells the best ever chocolate thumbprint cookies. I’ve been known to drive to this town just for those. I think that I should probably buy them and then sniff them on the way home in order to distract from other smells. But I can’t see leaving Caden-6yr in the car long enough to buy them. And I can’t take him in. So we leave and I stick with prayer when necessary.

I leave Caden-6yr with my mom while I go get prescriptions and lie to the guy taking out the groceries.

“How’s your day been, ma’am?”

“Great day. Yep. It’s been a great day. How about you?”

***

Mike is home and doing a way better job at being the Responsible Parent Nearest the Vomiter than i did. I’m grateful.  Caden-6yr is not yet any better. I’m still grateful.  I’m even glad I went with him this morning, even though he would have been better off with Mike.

~hm

4 Comments on “Rough Morning with Caden-6yr”

1
crickl's nest
July 16th, 2010
11:23 pm

Oh good grief! I don’t know whether to laugh or throw up. Really. Very funny in a very sad way…lol

Hope everything is ‘settled’ now.

2
Michele
July 17th, 2010
10:08 pm

Your life sounds a bit like one of those disaster-comedy family movies. Maybe you should let a film crew make a reality show about your life. I’m sure it pays well.
We’ll have to brain storm some ideas for the name and title sequence…you can write up the synopsis. Or better yet, just let them read your blog.

3
LaLa
July 18th, 2010
7:56 pm

Oh dear. Remember the time I went to midnight yell practice at A&M with high school friends, on the same night I’d caught a 24hour stomach virus and the way I found I was when I got sick without any warning all over the row of Aggies in front of me? That was a deeply unpleasant, embarrassing experience. In fact, that’s my most embarrassing public vomiting story. I tell it here as a gesture of solidarity.

I hope Caden-Baby is all better now. I can’t wait to see you!

4
Jessica
July 19th, 2010
1:04 pm

Both my boys have the snots: can’t sleep, can’t breath, making those gross snotty noises when they try to eat. Totally turns my stomach. But I still don’t think our day has been as bad as yours was. Thanks for giving me a little perspective.

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