The Beast

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Christopher sick at the pediatrician 



October 20, 2014

The beast implants itself inside my youngest child. I noticed the onset of symptoms after picking him up from school. As a routine, my boys are wild, even after a long day in class. But today, Christopher was just lying on the couch, lethargic. Not even the Mickey Mouse Club on Disney Jr. could motivate him. His skin was warm, his body ached, and there was no smile on his face.  Like a fairy tale of fairies and mythical creatures, the mythical beast of sickness had found him. 

I was hesitant to write about this because of the Ebola scare. Still, I can assure you, the reader, it wasn't Ebola. But this flu was a beast, unlike what I have ever seen since I became a parent in 2008. 

As the evening progressed, my son wailed and moaned as if he were transforming into a legendary werewolf during a full moon transformation. His persistent howls made me cringe. As a worried parent, I could only think about what may have been ravaging his insides. I wanted to take his pain like any good parent would; however, I could only lay by his side as he attempted to find a position that would bring him comfort. 

While the beast worked on Christopher, I didn't have the luxury of tending to him full-time because there was also a restless 6-year-old that I had to entertain, Nico, my oldest son. I had to be happy, sad, sympathetic, caring, neutering, loving, concerned, and thoughtful. My emotions were being raked all over the human field of emotions. Nico wasn't sick. He didn't care who was ill. He didn't consider how being sick affected us all. All he wanted to do was play. What six-year-old doesn't? 

While my youngest son would sleep, he'd cease to be needy, but then my oldest son, with his playmate out of the picture, wanted his attention. Naturally, I was his newest pal.

 "Daddy, watch me do this."

 "Daddy, let's play hide and seek."

 "Daddy, let's build a fort."

 After playing a merry-go-round of run-of-the-mill games, Nico would pause to play electronic games on my Android phone. Which he still lovingly calls "Daddy's iPhone." And it seemed that any break I wanted for myself, to rest, would never come.

 "Ahh, finally, rest," I say out loud as I ease into my very comfortable recliner.

 "Daddy," Christopher said to me.

 He was still groggy since he had just awakened from a nap.

 "Yes, buddy."

 "I'm sick," he said, "I have to go to the bathroom now. So, if you don't mind, Daddy, please get up, accompany me to the bathroom, and assist me with releasing this beast from my body."

 I know what you're saying to yourself while you read that last quote.

 "No way your son said that."

 And you are correct. The above content was just wishful thinking being typed out. I wish that's the way this went, but it didn't. The real version went like this.

 "Daddy?"

 "Ye… oh my! Christopher, what just happened? Where did all that stuff dripping down your legs come from? What the heck just happened? Why didn't you tell me? Oh, no, I'm so sorry. Oh, Jesus! Let's get you to the bathroom right away."

 And so, it went for the next 2 weeks and three doctor appointments. The beast attacked him. And in between attacking him, the beast leaped to my oldest son. And then he jumped towards me. For the last 3 weeks of September, we boys battled one of the worst stomach pain I have had in a very long time.

 Whatever my youngest son had, it was truly a beast. Ultimately, I almost resorted to a priest to exorcise this thing out of our lives. I was up to my shoulders in, well, crap, and whatever else the beast could unleash on us. I couldn't sleep, I didn't want to eat, and I couldn't take care of myself as well as I should since my sons were the ones who needed the most attention.

 The beast may have taken my son out the first day, but after two weeks, he made up for that day by eating his weight in food, running without a care, and just being a 5-year-old kid. We should all be so lucky. And once the beast leaves me, I will be.



726 words

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