I Momentarily Fear for Joe's Life

I was working toward my deadline this morning, when Joe suddenly doubled up in front of me and starting crying, while pressing on his stomach. Back in third grade, I read a Sunday school paper about a boy whose appendix exploded and poisoned his body and he almost died. Ever since, any stomach discomfort really concerns me.

I went to ask Phil about this disconcerting behavior. He was shearing another sheep, and did not appear unduly worried. Joe had stopped crying and watched Phil’s blades with interest.

But by the time I’d walked back to the trailers with Joe, he slipped out of my arms, crawled under the office trailer, and crouched there, on his hands and knees, crying uncontrollably. He didn’t seem to need to poop; he was just really uncomfortable. And greenish in hue. No one else had any symptoms of food poisoning, and I checked on botulism, and it didn’t sound like that.

I forced him to ingest some acidophilus. No change. I didn’t have the homeopathic Arsenicum, which is for food poisoning; in desperation I gave him some Arnica, for trauma.

He vehemently protested the little round pills, attempting to spit them out over and over, while I pushed them back in for half a minute. Then I dragged him out from under the trailer and put him inside on the bed.

He appeared somewhat better: he let me hold him, let me lie him on his back. I tried to massage his tummy, but he was clearly uncomfortable. I turned him over, and massaged his lower back, and he immediately fell asleep. Or was he unconscious? Skin: cold, clammy; color: pale, green.

In truth, I was so scared he was about to die, I didn’t want to leave the room to summon Phil, lest he completely stop breathing while I was away. I watched him take each breath, and picked him up about every minute to make sure he could still open his eyes and respond to my voice.

About that time, Phil was done with shearing, and came of his own accord down to the trailer. He is more laid back than I am, and didn’t appear too concerned. He suggested we take our sweating son to the motor home, where he could rest in air conditioning. Shortly after we transported him, he started to smile when we said his name. Within ten minutes, he was laughing and running around with Abraham.

He never did poop, either, and has shown no further symptoms of pain.

So bizarre!

I’m not sure we ever remembered to put him on our family health insurance plan. He might yet be uninsured. It’s an interesting phenomenon, to have the niggling concern of medical bills hanging overhead, when a son might be dying—or might just have painful gas. Insurance … what a headache!

In the evening, we headed to a church-wide pool party. We had a good time, and even water-hating Abraham sat on the steps in the pool.

When we returned home, we found the power out. Apparently, an inch and a half of rain fell in the few hours we were away. Wow.