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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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