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March 11, 2009

the grace of god

It has become apparent that neither of my children is especially hearty. I spend a whole lot of time these days listening intently for a hitch in breathing, a cough, a sniffle, a wheeze; looking for the tell-tale pallor of an oncoming bout of migraine or strep; hoping to divert whatever grippe-y germ is trying to make headway in their bodies.

I spend too much time sitting in ERs, in the offices of various specialists and in the office of my pediatricians, staring at my feet and listening to babies crying and waiting to see a doctor who will most likely thank me for coming, tell me it's nothing or tell me to hope for the best before taking my $15 co-pay, bestowing hearty good wishes that I have a great rest of the day, and firmly closing the office door behind me.

Moo especially it seems cannot withstand any sort of virus or bacteria. Perpetually tired, he complains of headache, aching knees, hurty ears, sore throat, insomnia, various aches and pains. He rises from his couch at 6:45 a.m. and stumbles off to school, does whatever it is they do in high school these days for 6.5 hours, before coming home and collapsing again, spent. Sam, Girlfriend #1, said to me a couple of years ago, "He has the constitution of a sick worm." Not very poetic, but fairly apt.

I have a countertop laden with prescription medications, over-the-counter headache and cold and allergy and stomach ailment medications, all-natural homeopathic potions, naturopathic liquids. I disseminate them all stealthily, sneakily, in the middle of the night or when I am alone in the kitchen for a minute, like a a poisoner, into glasses of juice and cups of soup, cooked in casseroles, sprinkled over cereal.

But both kids know what I'm doing and manage to resist even my most underhanded methods, to the point where Moo will barely ingest anything I give him that has been opened or poured into a glass.

No amount of disguise will fool him into believing that he really cannot taste the colorless liquid I poured into his Gatorade, and he will take the glass from me, pour it down the sink and get himself another he can trust has not been defiled with healthful ingredients.

I wish I could slice both kids in half, hose them down with some warm, salty water, spritz a little Lysol in their various cavities and sew them back up, better than new: healthy.

The funny thing is that their compromised immune systems don't seem to bother them at all. They don't feel good and they don't expect to feel good, and that's mostly just fine with them. Maybe feeling like crap is still a good time for them; a day off; a holiday; a car ride to the doctor and then a car ride home; an afternoon spent sleeping instead of studying; Mom being extra nice. Ten days of some sort of antibiotic, or two days of a quiet house and eggs for dinner, and then the countdown until the next fever, or cramp, or stomach ache. Until the next big adventure.

Posted by JudyLa at 06:00 AM | Comments (0)