Not The Laurence Fishburne Version
It’s quarter to four in the morning, and my body has tipped over the insomnia waterfall, ready to plunge into the weird, waking world of the sleep deprived.
Noelle took the brunt of the day shift, so it was left to me to see Gabe off to sleep. After the meningitis scare, we are extra twitchy about his every ache and sniffle. We try not to let it show. But when I ran out to collect Gabe from school Wednesday afternoon, his stomach was painful and sour, and his head ached. This is how it began last time, I thought.
The vomiting started later. I took as much of the puke patrol as I could; I have the stronger stomach. A low-grade fever rose by the hour. It was a lot like last time. It was also a lot different. There was much to be optimistic about.
Nevertheless, I stood my post, unable and unwilling to relax until something – good or bad – happened. Around two AM, Gabe woke to have some water. His temperature was 99.1. Two degrees lower with no medication. I put him back in bed and dragged my sorry ass back to the adult’s bedroom.
Noelle is turning from time to time, making the kinds of noises you make when you’re in dreamland. I sit beside her, writing this.
I wait for the sandman to come and claim me.
I am ready, Morpheus.
Tags: Family, Health Care
This entry was posted on Thursday, December 24th, 2009 at 4:00 AM and is filed under Miscellaneous. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. Both comments and pings are currently closed.