Ralph
Heard a funny noise at 5 this morning over Ryan's monitor that sounded like Donald Duck was singing the last few words of the National Anthem. I went in to investigate, seeing as the garbage truck had just stopped by and I was up anyway.
Ryan was showing concern that his stuffed rabbit was sitting on the floor.
I was more concerned with the six gallons of vomit on his pillow.
Got all his bedclothes off and changed his shirt, and he happily crawled on the floor next to a floor pillow thing I used to use when I had to pretend to sleep next to his crib, and pulled the comforter over him. He threw up on that later. Then the couch, then his mother, then the cat...it was a Monty Python movie.
I asked for frequent updates, which was pretty much the status quo: couldn't keep anything down. Even ice cubes. Heard Erin LA LA ing away in the background, so at least she was okay.
Had to go to Walter Reed yet again for an elbow consult -- thanks to a surgery call, I didn't get seen until 2 for a one o'clock appointment, which would have been fine if he had been able to tell me anything at all about how to fix my problem. It's not tender to the touch, I have full range of motion, and granted it's much better than it was five months ago, but it's still 'there' and no one knows what 'it' is. The inner-elbow-version of tennis elbow was ruled out since it wasn't swollen or painful to the touch. The professional recommendation, just like my back, just like my hand, is to Live With It. Let Pain Be My Guide. What. Ever.
Checked on Ryan from work, who I heard was lying on the couch, moose slippered-feet still on the ground, blanket over his head, telling his mother to take him to The Man Village.
I wanna go to the man village!
When I got home, he was a pitiful mess, warm all over, not hungry, not moving, except to tell Mommy he doesn't feel well over and over again. (Which is ultimately less heartbreaking than the "Mommy, fix it," he tried earlier in the day.) And to throw up yet again into a bowl I was directed Just In Time to bring mouthward.
The issue was compounded by the fact that Mommy didn't feel well, either. They must eat at the same chiliburger joints. The two of them to bed early, I read with Erin for a bit (she's SO into books now, and MAN a lot of them star a cow she can go voo to), let her watch me eat dinner, then was able to sway her struggles and protests into a sleep of her own, now entering its third hour thankfully. Ryan's only been up once, with whatever going on inside him causing him to just say, "No, no..." but he just coughed a bit and then plopped back down on his pillow. He's still moaning and heavy breathing from time to time, which makes me wish we didn't even have monitors, the poor thing. Just a button like Wallace to ring me when he needs me. :-(
Ryan was showing concern that his stuffed rabbit was sitting on the floor.
I was more concerned with the six gallons of vomit on his pillow.
Got all his bedclothes off and changed his shirt, and he happily crawled on the floor next to a floor pillow thing I used to use when I had to pretend to sleep next to his crib, and pulled the comforter over him. He threw up on that later. Then the couch, then his mother, then the cat...it was a Monty Python movie.
I asked for frequent updates, which was pretty much the status quo: couldn't keep anything down. Even ice cubes. Heard Erin LA LA ing away in the background, so at least she was okay.
Had to go to Walter Reed yet again for an elbow consult -- thanks to a surgery call, I didn't get seen until 2 for a one o'clock appointment, which would have been fine if he had been able to tell me anything at all about how to fix my problem. It's not tender to the touch, I have full range of motion, and granted it's much better than it was five months ago, but it's still 'there' and no one knows what 'it' is. The inner-elbow-version of tennis elbow was ruled out since it wasn't swollen or painful to the touch. The professional recommendation, just like my back, just like my hand, is to Live With It. Let Pain Be My Guide. What. Ever.
Checked on Ryan from work, who I heard was lying on the couch, moose slippered-feet still on the ground, blanket over his head, telling his mother to take him to The Man Village.
I wanna go to the man village!
When I got home, he was a pitiful mess, warm all over, not hungry, not moving, except to tell Mommy he doesn't feel well over and over again. (Which is ultimately less heartbreaking than the "Mommy, fix it," he tried earlier in the day.) And to throw up yet again into a bowl I was directed Just In Time to bring mouthward.
The issue was compounded by the fact that Mommy didn't feel well, either. They must eat at the same chiliburger joints. The two of them to bed early, I read with Erin for a bit (she's SO into books now, and MAN a lot of them star a cow she can go voo to), let her watch me eat dinner, then was able to sway her struggles and protests into a sleep of her own, now entering its third hour thankfully. Ryan's only been up once, with whatever going on inside him causing him to just say, "No, no..." but he just coughed a bit and then plopped back down on his pillow. He's still moaning and heavy breathing from time to time, which makes me wish we didn't even have monitors, the poor thing. Just a button like Wallace to ring me when he needs me. :-(
posted by Dan at 10:17 PM
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