Your sleeping body lays heavy next to mine. You’re finally sleeping soundly. It has been a while. I listen and watch. I want to reach over and feel your forehead like I have done thousands of times in the last few days….but I am scared. Has your temperature spiked again since I last checked, moments before? I want to feel cool skin beneath my hand. I’m worried that I will find fire. How many days can the fever last?
Burning up again. Please take the Motrin. Please let this be the last time. A false sense of relief passes over me as the medicine kicks in. I know it will be hours before the fever might return. You perk up and even play a little. I look for all these tiny signs of hope that you’re getting better. “How are you feeling?” I ask again.
“All better,” you respond again as you offer me your forehead for another temperature check.
It’s Mother’s Day and we are on day seven of sickness. Day seven of worry. Day two of antibiotics, all my wishes for health and well being poured in the sticky pink liquid. The doctor’s words ring in my mind, “Call if she still has a fever after 48 hours.” Just six hours to go. I limit the temperature checks to every 15 minutes for my own sanity. Each time your mopey being obliges.
Slowly, the day passes and with each hour and each temperature check, I allow my shoulders to relax, but not completely.
That night, I hold your now cool body close to mine. Still watching and listening, praying a silent prayer of thanks before finally letting my body relax.
Oh no. Poor thing and poor you. I can feel your worry in this piece. This is hard in ordinary times, let alone a pandemic. I hope Rose is on the mend. Sending healing thoughts…
LikeLike
so terrifying! I’m glad Super-nurse was there to help and cooler temps returned. The worst!
LikeLike
You capture the fear in this piece of writing – and those glimpses of hope that you want to hold on to with all your might, even though you know they may be fleeting. I’m just so glad that Rose is on the mend. What a hard week.
LikeLike
You capture the worry of a mother so well. So thankful for that pink liquid medicine. Can’t even let my mind think about your worry if it didn’t work.
LikeLike
This piece moved me. As a mother, I understand your worry and vigilance. The way you express this time and your angst really nails that feeling. I’m happy she is doing better and hope you get some rest. I will be thinking of you all.
LikeLike
So scary, right? Especially now I would say! So glad she is on the mend.
LikeLike
I don’t think I took a breath until the final line. Be well and take care of yourself. Sending calmer times your way.
LikeLike
So terrifying in a way it never was before. Glad to hear that your safe and sound. All of this is so hard.
LikeLike
Wow. I couldn’t teas fast enough. Your words resonate… the worry, the anxiety. I’ve been there!
So glad the fever broke.
LikeLike
I held my breath during your post. Sounds like it worked out…I sure hope so. We’re all living on the edge of terror especially for our loved ones.
LikeLike
Hope everyone is now healthy and happy at your household – best wishes!
LikeLike