Illness 4: Our Family 0
Ian called. He’s got it now too. That makes all four of us. We’re all sick with the cold that knocked Lucas out a week ago.
We are tired. We are miserable. Lucas is alternately very exhausted and pathetic and annoying as hell. He’s on meds. He is now complaining of an earache.
The rest of us are just suffering, hoping we’ll feel better soon.
Asher keeps looking at me like, “What the hell kind of crap mom are you, anyway?! Why don’t you DO something?” I get the stink-eye from him when his nose explodes snotty slime all over his face. I get it when I take his temp rectally. I get it when he coughs. And also when I put any type of food in front of him—any morsel at all. He won’t eat anything. (Thank goodness he’s still nursing. I know he’s getting some fluids at least.)
Asher woke up many times last night with coughing or crying. But then he did something I’ve never seen him or anyone else do in my whole life: He started screaming and thrashing about. I’m talking about eyes-open-mouth-blaring-rageful screaming. And thrashing his entire body about in the bed, hitting his head on the headboard, on me, on Ian, with complete disregard. It was like a full-on temper tantrum out of a dead sleep at 3 a.m. If he had been hot to the touch, I would have concluded, “Oh, so this is what a febrile seizure looks like.” Only he didn’t have a fever. He was, as far as I can guess, simply MAD AS HELL. He screamed that way for 20 minutes. Ian just held him … tightly, until Asher stopped screaming and went back to sleep. It was disconcerting, to say the least.
It’s another gorgeous spring day and we are trapped inside the Wilson Sanatorium. God help me. I’m just about off my rocker.
