Thursday Zack called to be picked up from school; it was his stomach. He was hysterical in pain.
Friday he felt worse. Over the weekend he was tired, but not especially writhing in pain, but when Monday came around he warned he still felt awful and would be calling me from the clinic.
I shake my head. No, no, no way, he's not playing me. I can't come get him - I have classes to teach, it's April, weeks away from the Final. No, no, no way. I drop him at school, red eyed and droopy.
I then go home, get Zoe and take her to her school and after THAT I can finally head to work. It's a warm Spring morning and I finally can wear a dress again. Today's lecture is on Operation Pedro Pan. This is going to be a good day. I mentally mark off everything I need to do in office hours while fiddling with the radio.
Before I get off I-10 the phone rings. Zack's in the clinic. He's hysterical with pain. I need to come get him. I can't turn around, though, I need to go to work (sigh, what a waste of mascara! what a waste of a blow dry!) and fillout leave forms and notify students and (sigh, I WANT to TEACH!) then drive waaaay across town. I tell the woman who calls from his school that I'll be there in an hour. An hour, she repeats back to me, then adds, good, because that's our limit. I don't ask what it's they're limit for -- do they euthanize? Then get off the phone and do what I need to do.
Tuesday he is no better and I'm frayed. My Tuesday Thursday class should have a lecture on WW2 today, I *love* that lecture and explaining Window Stars and showing pictures of government posters of Jenny on the Job, the non-Rosie the Riveter character of playfully silly blondeness who historians seem to have relegated to dusty drawers. Today is the lecture with the Langston Hughes poem where he demands to know "how long I gotta fight both HITLER and JIM CROW?"
At this point I call Zack's doctor and ask for help. I'm thinking the nurse will tell me it's nothing and to push on. But instead she says there's a nasty virus going on, so bring him in.
I do. The Dr says its a nasty virus, shows how dehydrated Zack is, gives me dietary instructions for him, gives him pills, gives me excuse notes for school and work.
That day Zack isn't much better. Denise is free to watch Zack while I teach (thank you!)
Friday he felt worse. Over the weekend he was tired, but not especially writhing in pain, but when Monday came around he warned he still felt awful and would be calling me from the clinic.
I shake my head. No, no, no way, he's not playing me. I can't come get him - I have classes to teach, it's April, weeks away from the Final. No, no, no way. I drop him at school, red eyed and droopy.
I then go home, get Zoe and take her to her school and after THAT I can finally head to work. It's a warm Spring morning and I finally can wear a dress again. Today's lecture is on Operation Pedro Pan. This is going to be a good day. I mentally mark off everything I need to do in office hours while fiddling with the radio.
Before I get off I-10 the phone rings. Zack's in the clinic. He's hysterical with pain. I need to come get him. I can't turn around, though, I need to go to work (sigh, what a waste of mascara! what a waste of a blow dry!) and fillout leave forms and notify students and (sigh, I WANT to TEACH!) then drive waaaay across town. I tell the woman who calls from his school that I'll be there in an hour. An hour, she repeats back to me, then adds, good, because that's our limit. I don't ask what it's they're limit for -- do they euthanize? Then get off the phone and do what I need to do.
Tuesday he is no better and I'm frayed. My Tuesday Thursday class should have a lecture on WW2 today, I *love* that lecture and explaining Window Stars and showing pictures of government posters of Jenny on the Job, the non-Rosie the Riveter character of playfully silly blondeness who historians seem to have relegated to dusty drawers. Today is the lecture with the Langston Hughes poem where he demands to know "how long I gotta fight both HITLER and JIM CROW?"
At this point I call Zack's doctor and ask for help. I'm thinking the nurse will tell me it's nothing and to push on. But instead she says there's a nasty virus going on, so bring him in.
I do. The Dr says its a nasty virus, shows how dehydrated Zack is, gives me dietary instructions for him, gives him pills, gives me excuse notes for school and work.
That day Zack isn't much better. Denise is free to watch Zack while I teach (thank you!)
