Today seemed like the usual seventh day: wake, feed others, feed self, drive to work, four hours of extroversion frenzy. The usual until my son, my Little Man, started feeling ill at church. He had a slight fever and a few other symptoms. I was handling it as one of the common bugs known to the 3yr. old variety of our species. I consulted other moms and we all agreed: bug.
I became more concerned when he lost interest in lunch. Then there was one more alarming symptom after the next. Within 3 hours, Little Man went from a 3 year old with a cold to a patient in the emergency room. Tonight Little Man and his Dada are spending the first of a couple of prescribed nights in the hospital. Oh, Little Man.
I came home, informed the grand-posse, packed up survival supplies for them both (dental floss and deodorant for Dada; cowboy pj's and a teddy bear dressed as spiderman for L.M.) then headed back to the hospital. When I returned, some things had worsened. Now L.M. had an IV, O2, and he was getting over hives from a previously unknown medication allergy. Other things were better. They have a diagnosis and he'll be out in a couple of days.
The doctor didn't ease my mind nearly as much as Little Man himself. He had already found ways to play with his immobilized IV arm. He was interrupting the doctor's review with, "Mama...MaMA.....MAMA." He was working a scheme to get the O2 out of his nose for good. And he was prompting me to extend the list of tomorrow's visitors with: "Who else? Who else?" While I was projecting every tragedy of the past into our future, he was seeing the possibilities of now and feeling better. My Little Man can also be a little Buddha sometimes.
Oh, Little Man. You get well, my precious one. Get well.