Last night my oldest came to me crying that his head was hurting. So, like any good mother I medicated him and sent him to bed with a glass of orange juice. All night long I checked his temperature which spiked at 103.7 early this morning. Every two hours I alternated between Tylenol Jr. and Ibuprofen. It was at the butt crack of dawn that the orange juice, which had sat quietly in the confines of his stomach decided to pay us visit. It was as if it said, "hey! I'm not through with this world yet! Let me out! Attica! Attica!" Needless to say my son wretched it all up, leaving small peticial hemorrhages around his face (this happens with the pressure).
Some may not know this, but two years ago I was diagnosed with Fibromyalgia and every so often I get what are called "flare-ups". These are excruciating, causing widespread pain throughout my body. There isn't one part of me that doesn't hurt...this includes my hair! As luck would have it, three days ago I started with another one.
What I find amazing is that when one of our children becomes ill, we forget about our sickness and focus on what's wrong with them. There isn't a moment when you say "I'm too sick to take care of them", even though there are times when I feel that way.
Mother's are special people, who in most cases, leave themselves for last. They don't think about what is happening with their own bodies in that moment. They just know that their baby is sick and needs care. How amazing is that?
Thanks to my mother who always scratched my scalp gently, tucked me in, rubbed vapo rub all over my chest when I was a child. It really DOES make a difference.
Happy Writing,
-C.
P.S: FINALLY reading the follow up to "The Forrest of Hands and Teeth" by Carrie Ryan called "The Dead-Tossed Waves". I'll let you know how it goes. : )
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