February 26th, 2006
Poor Baby Jack
He was awake off and on all night with a terrible tummy bug.
I’d like a pressure washer full of Purell to saturate every surface in the house. I might have to settle for opening all the windows to the February chill. Burrr.
(What I would really like is a washing machine, but it doesn’t come until Wednesday.)
He was in six year old level despair, body and soul. The way he was talking about a pain in his sides I thought we were going to have to take him into the ER. (I always wonder if we should go to the ER, though we rarely do.)
On one of his later trips into the bathroom he said, “God said, ‘Yes’ but then He said, ‘No’ again!” (I guess he had been pleading for an end to the suffering.) Of all of your run of the mill viral invaders, what can make you question your faith like a stomach flu? It is such a violent ordeal and you are simply powerless over it. He wanted to know why God wasn’t stopping it.
I told him - and I meant it - that every time I go through that type of illness I always wonder the same thing. And I never know why, either.
“The most important thing,” I said, “is to remember that no matter what, He’s good. He loves us and He’s good.” He didn’t disagree and seemed comforted. I’ve heard it said that the test of having mastered a subject lies in whether or not you can explain it to a child. I have most definitely not mastered patience in affliction, so it was a relief that he was satisfied with a simple (if not easy) answer.
He was more upset about the fact that we had to limit his liquids. Utterly incredulous, he declared, “Mama! Papa said no water, no juice, and not even milk! Not even MILK!”
Actually, we let him have tiny bits of water. But he wanted more. Until he decided to drink more. And got a dramatic demonstration of why that was a poor choice.
Overall he took the whole saga very patiently. I hope it’s over.