Sunday, March 27, 2011

A Hug From My Dad

I knew exactly what I was going to write about late Thursday night. I had emailed one of my son's teachers and was absolutely appalled when I read her response. I had to read it four times before I understood it. I even forwarded it to my husband at work. I didn't say anything about it, but just sent it. He too, was pretty amazed. I lie awake in bed that night; thinking of what I would write and fell asleep (Yes, this deserves a blog and it will soon come).

I awoke the following morning feeling as if I had had a bad bout of heartburn the night before. You know, that 'after-burn' kind of feeling, as if your stomach was still smoldering. A few things tipped me off that it was more than after burn; I told myself to sit still. If I have to sit still in order to feel better, something is wrong. I also felt as if my eyes were on fire; another tell-tale sign.  I have fever. The third sign that I was not well was that I had no desire for coffee. Yep. I'm sick. Soon enough, I was shivering. I did what I know is not a good idea; I took a hot bath. A HOT bath. Not a good idea. I was suddenly sick. Violently sick... for a half hour straight. Never in my life have I been that sick, even when I had Diverticulitis. It scared me. Not only do I hate being ill, but I have surgically implanted mesh that is now supporting my weak abdominal muscles. Not only was I terrified that I'd rip it apart with the violence of my sudden illness, but it hurt like hell. I'm still sore from it.

I finally was able to get into bed and keep tiny drops of grape Kool-Aid down (Thank you, Nurse Aaron). I knew I was dehydrated. I kept at it. Then as soon as I felt confident that I was not going to get ill again, my fever shot up to 103.2. So, with a prayer, I swallowed two Tylenol and relieved that they were staying down, I went to sleep.

By the time I woke up, my husband had been home a while. I slept off and on most of the evening. I woke up around 7:55 just in time to see Who Do You Think You Are. I fell asleep 15 minutes into it. Oh well. It'll repeat.

What's the point of all of this? Nothing. It did remind me about something that I always use whenever I am ill. Without fail. Every time. My sick cup. Or rather, My Sick Cup. It's something I treasure and yes, it's important enough to blog about.

My Sick Cup was given to me by my father when I was 14. I had been diagnosed with Mononucleosis just a week prior. It had been a bad week; I felt awful. I had to go through a painful series of injections right after the diagnosis. I was forced to leave school (okay, at first I was elated... that didn't last long) and learned that even thought I felt horrible, I would soon have a tutor at home, and I felt horrible that my parents had to take care of a really sick kid. Yeah, life sucked at the moment.

My dad came home for lunch (he usually did) and brought his sandwich and a paper bag into my room. I felt his hand brush the hair away from my sweaty forehead. My eyes opened. Mom came in and asked if I wanted some tea. I shook my head, but asked instead for some broth. My dad left for a moment then came in with his sandwich, minus the bag. He asked me how I was feeling and told me that maybe they could set up the sofa so that I could spend the evening out there with them later that evening so we could all watch TV together. I could hardly wait. Yes, I was kid that loved hanging out with her parents. Mom came in with a cup of steaming broth and a napkin. Dad helped me arrange my pillows so I could sip my broth. She set up a TV Tray next to my bed. She handed the cup to my father and he said:

"Here, Squirt. It's not much, but I thought you could use it to sip tea... or broth!" I took the cup: A large one; it could hold at least two cups! It was in shades of brown at the bottom, and white with brown flecks. Then in the center were two brown bears. Cute. I loved it. I used it for just about every beverage I drank during that time. Poor Ma.

A Hug From Dad
It's funny what we treasure. Silly little... things. There are only a few things that I would grab if there was (God forbid) a fire and My Sick Cup would be one of them. I've used it every time I have been sick. I used it this morning for my breakfast of chicken broth. I've put it away,though, as I'm finally feeling better,  high up and away from the daily coffee mugs and glasses. On the top shelf of my cabinet. I always fear I'll break it. I don't want to think about that. Again, I know it's just a thing -- an object, but to me, it's like getting a hug from my Daddy when I use it. I've even let my own sons use it, but -- and maybe I'm being selfish, but that's MY My Sick Cup. I guess that means I need to get my sons their own sick cups? Or maybe I'm just silly. Whatever. My Sick Cup is put away... until the next time I need it.

1 comment:

  1. I can totally understand keeping your My Sick Cup sacred. Some objects just remind us of the love of the person who gave them to us. Treasure it! (but i'm really glad you're feeling well again, enough to put it away!)

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