Around seven this evening, Jack seemed to turn the corner. Heperked up. He came out of my bedroom, which was the only time he’d left the bed all day except for that 20 minute tepid bath I gave him when his fever seemed reluctant to give itself over to the absolute power of Tylenol.
He sat on the couch and requested crackers and grapes, which I provided readily. His brother even offered to bring him things, so pathetic were his spirit and countenance.
His fever seemed to break around 10 PM, when he woke laughing from a dream (Hallucination?) and then screamed for me in fright. I brought him to my bed, where he slept.
At midnight he sat up with a bolt, “Momma, I need to throw up.” I whisked him off the bed and into the bathroom (He’s never vomited in the toilet before; he’s never vomited with me before, only that one time on the floor at preschool…would he know what to do? Would he freak out?).
I sat on the tub, my hand resting lightly on his back, murmuring reassurances as the small one trembled and retched. I helped him blow his nose, rinse his mouth and brush his teeth.
Ten minutes after the vomiting Jack was again lying in my bed, surrounded by towels and a bucket, just in case. I was putting The Land Before Time into the VCR when he looked at me and said, “Momma, what if I throwed up into the toilet and then I put my head into it?”
“Ew!” I laughed.
He grinned, “That’d be pretty disgusting.”
1 Comment
March 14, 2007 at 11:16 pm
Great blog, good job getting it all together