Day 505: White Padded Room

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The situation, as they say, is grim.

We’ve got men down all over the place!

And by men, I mean one man -a little one- namely, Blaze. And the other “man” being in reality a “woman”, but man in the sense that she’s on the squad, the team; and by that I mean Jeannette. I feel comfortable calling her a man in that context, as I’ve personally heard female hockey players yelling at their teammates to “take your man” -the other man in question being yet another female hockey player! So that’s how I meant it. 

Anyway, they’re all down, these men, these hardened, grizzled -okay too far. But sick as dogs, all of them, both of them… you get the idea.

Now when I say dogs I don’t mean to make the comparison in the derogatory sense mind you…

Jeannette actually threw up. That happened. Just an hour or so ago. Yep. There was a bag involved… actually, I was supposed to dump said bag…. Wait one sec…

…You know what, scratch that. I opened and shut the door. 

Jeannette is finally asleep, as is Blaze and Amy, so we’ll just let this status quo roll until such time as I’m either yelled at to “Clean up my puke!!” or I can swiftly dart in, pour it down the closest drain, and be done with it. 

Poor poor Jeannette. She’s not a good puker this one. Didn’t do it once with Blaze. Abhors it and will do everything she can to avoid it. She’s like me. We love the world. We love food. And as such, it is our fervent intention to keep it all travelling in the same direction after it enters our body. I also hate throwing up, and am an absolute mess when it happens. I need like a full body jump suit or something. Some kind of puke suit of armour to put on when it’s about to go down. Maybe a padded white room, with a drain in the middle. Just leave me there and don’t bother coming back to get me for at least four hours. 

I say four hours not because I’ll be puking that long -I’m over and done with it and feeling much better five minutes post retch- however, I will need the extra three hours and fifty five minutes for all the crying, and hug/rocking, and whining and groaning, and the ‘getting of my shit back together’ and also so I can be sure and look extra tough when you finally open the door and let me out. 

Balls, I hear Blaze waking up. 

He was a mess last night too, poor bugger. Slept quite well until about one am when we were all in bed. At that point he coughed and it was sharp in his throat and it upset him greatly. He screamed with one of those pitches you just have to go check on, and there he was, standing in his crib looking quite horrified. 

I could tell he was not a fan of this new sensation in life; the sharp cough. He looked at me as if to say, “To be true? The throat can feel like this??? There are sharp things in my throat father! Sharp, jagged things. Do you not try to keep such things away from me at all times?!” And then there was an accusatory look as if it was somehow my fault, and THEN all he wanted was his mother. 

Grim. 

So she took him and tried to put him in bed with her. Mind you at this point she’s already feeling like stomped balls herself, the cold now fully taking firm hold of her extremities and core. So as I lay in bed all I heard was him very upset and her trying to deal with him, followed by her coming back in the room asking me what we should do with him. This happened a couple of times, when my answer of “he’s got to just go back in bed and cry it out,” didn’t satisfy her. Finally after the third visit back into the bedroom I plucked him from her and put him in the crib. 

Oh, I was nice about it. No worries there. I was very understanding of his struggles, and of his belief that somehow I had allowed these tiny sharp objects into his throat, fully understanding, supportive, and overall very positive. I put him down, put the soother in his wailing mouth, stroked his head a bit, and then left -listening to him flip out as I went. 

This went on for some time as well. 

I went back in twice, my presence doing nothing but heightening his resolve to scream louder. But you go back in guys. You gotta comfort and let them know you haven’t gone out for milk and are never coming back. Eventually they’ll cry themselves out and hit the deck, but until then, it’s a long sleepless shift of laying in bed waiting for the appropriate trigger to get up and go back in to soothe briefly, comfort, and then leave. 

When finally he went to sleep he didn’t get up again until 8am. 

He’s still a miserable mess unfortunately, though is constantly trying to play through the pain. Amy is with him now, I just heard them go down stairs. Jeannette, with ear plugs stuffed into her ears, is still sleeping. Hubble is with me. Any cause to bark and I’m but two feet away from him armed with all the knowledge and techniques I need to make him stop barking toute suite. -Mostly that’s just flipping him on his back and giving him a close proximity stink eye until whatever inspired the barking has passed. 

So that’s where we’re currently at over here on the North Mountain. 

I will continue to try and assure that Jeannette will feel better the more she is able to remain unconscious, and get her water and buckets when she needs it, all while keeping a close eye on how this progresses with a hospital trigger pull if she’s not getting better and throwing up too much. She’s quite pregnant you see, if you haven’t checked in for a while, so we don’t want to mess around with all that. 

Thankfully, we have the sound of our intrepid frenchman Claude wielding his mighty chainsaw out in the yard to serve as a soft, calming background noise to help soothe what has otherwise been a bit of a day so far. 

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