We had a good holiday season here at the Proza household.
Joseph, was home from Texas A&M for a whole two days before he became sick as a dog with an evil stomach virus (truthfully, my dogs have NEVER been THAT sick, thank God).
He woke us up early on a Sunday morning, loudly calling for "Ralph", if you know what I mean. One funny thing about it (and believe me, I cleaned up the mess, so I KNOW there wasn't much in the way of funny), was Joseph's determination to make it to our regular Sunday brunch. After each stomach upheaval, he'd tell himself, "I'm okay, I'm okay - I'll just have the fruit plate, fruit will be okay." Bless his heart, the kid's a trooper, isn't he?
One thing Roger and I learned is that although Joseph is a brilliant kid, and has survived dorm room living for a whole semester, he still has some basic survival skills to learn. Primarily the art of throwing up.
Maybe it's because Joseph was lucky enough to be amazingly healthy all of his life, or maybe it's because he's just not overly burdened with a whole lot of common sense. Whatever the reason, it has never occurred to Joseph that, when you need to vomit, it's a good idea to get yourself as CLOSE to the target (read: toilet bowl) as you possibly can. Kneeling down is a requirement - grabbing the sides of the bowl and praying for death are optional.
No, throwing up, Joseph style, requires the merest movement of simply bowing your head a fraction of an inch, and letting 'er rip, all from a height of approximately 6'2". Accuracy is not necessary and isn't even encouraged. This procedure can be repeated, as needed, with even LESS accuracy from the doorway of the bathroom. Kind of a new take on the phrase "You don't even have to be PRESENT to win!"
Roger and I tried to educate Joseph on how to improve his form by telling him there was a reason being sick is often referred to as "driving the porcelain bus", and that he needed to get up close and personal with the toilet to avoid any mishaps someone (read: ME) would have to clean up.
Joseph was horrified, to say the least, and asked us WHY in the WORLD would anybody want to get that close to something that disgusting? Uh huh, spoken like someone who DOESN'T have to clean up the disgust.
The nausea was followed by a couple of days of high fever and some patient/caregiver battles. I'm the first to admit that I make a lousy nurse. If you are unlucky enough to become sick on my watch I seriously advise you to drag yourself to the nearest Discount Tire or Kwicky Lube...you'll get better care there, I promise.
I'm the type to open the door, throw in medicine, look at my watch and tell you that you have 15 minutes to get well or die, and I don't care which - just PICK ONE!
Joseph wouldn't eat anything (understandable), slept constantly (okay, he needs his rest to recover), repeatedly asked for a cold washcloth for his head (now he's pushing it), and wouldn't drink anything (what, does he WANT to dehydrate and spend his Christmas in the HOSPITAL?? He's doing this on purpose, isn't he?)
I'm happy to report that Joseph DID, in fact, recover, about 5 minutes before I tried to smother him with his pillow and went on to enjoy a very relaxed vacation of sleeping, watching television and laying around in his pajamas.
Pretty much what he did when he was sick with one big improvement. We're not quite as worried about his aim.
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