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Written by Jeff Stimpson
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Alex seemed better over the weekend. Last Wednesday and Thursday the
symptoms had been nagging but at least familiar: Ned brings a cold into
the house on Tuesday, Alex is lethargic and a little feverish by
Wednesday afternoon. Beyond that, Alex can't tell us how he feels.
This is the second such spell for Alex in as many months. Jill thinks
he might need antibiotics. Night by night through the end of the week,
as evenings dissolve into certainty that Alex won't be going to school
again the next day, I recall that lately Alex has been the first one
back into the stroller on the playground. Alex has been the one who
bounces around less. Alex is the one who seems to get tired first. Jill
talks about taking him to the doctor, even though without fail Alex
seems to get sickest after visiting the doctor. I say we have no
symptoms.
"We do have a symptom," Jill says. "We have fatigue. You can be tired,
but in a few hours you get over it. We have fatigue." He lies on his
side, with his T-shirt off, on the cushions on the living room floor,
one eye upraised to the TV and Elmo.
He stays home Thursday; he stays home Friday, though late that
afternoon he bolts from the playground near our building and makes Jill
chase him to the edge of the Harlem Meer, into which he seems intent on
jumping. On Saturday, he scrambles up most of the biggest rocks in
Central Park, Ned at his heels.
"I'm sick, too," Ned announces after brushing his teeth Saturday night.
He gives a fake cough. Ned will do anything to get cough syrup.
On Sunday, Alex's low fever returns. He nibbles his chicken, munches
pretzels. He takes an hour-long nap -- strange for him -- but later
stays up until past 10, which seems normal for a kid who's usually
asleep by 9 p.m. but who'd had an hour-long nap. Then he seems to come
back. At least no antibiotics this time, I think on Monday morning. At
least not this time.
My phone rings about 3 p.m. on Monday. "We've got trouble," says Jill,
on the other end. "Alex's teacher called. "She says Alex slept in
school all day, fell asleep on the bus, and threw up in school. They
say there's a virus going around. I just don't know. He wanted to get
on the school bus this morning."
I tell Howard, my boss. "Sometimes when you exercise hard when you're
just getting over something, it can cause a relapse," he says.
"I like that," says Jill, when I pass it on. "I like that a lot. It's a thoughtful thing to say."
We keep Alex home on Tuesday. He seems perky, so I take him for a walk
in the morning. He keeps cutting in front of me and saying, "Shoulder,
shoulder." He wants to ride on my shoulders, instead of walk. We take a
bus ride to midtown. He asks for peanut butter granola bars. I don't
have any; I can't find any in stores. Then we pass a McDonald's and
Alex bolts for it. "Alex, they're not serving chicken yet," I warn him.
He scampers to the counter. I ask if he wants hash browns. "Hash
browns! Hash browns!" he says. When they come, he pitches a
McNugget-withdrawal fit. We finally find peanut-butter granola in a
drugstore, where he wants the pretzels and cookies. Not too sick, I
guess, but cranky, and somehow not himself.
Yet he's up that evening, waving to me from the living room while I
bathe Ned in the bathroom. Soon after, he's scrambling up the
entertainment unit toward the VCR while we all try to watch "The
Simpsons." He tries to pop in Elmo or "There Goes a Police Car." How
can a sick kid move that fast and that often?
He goes back to school on Wednesday. I check in with Alex's teacher,
ask her if he's having any problem. "Yeah-" she begins, chilling me
with the notion that I've actually asked about something that's been on
her mind. "-he was a little slow this morning, not quite himself. Then
in the afternoon he perked right up!" Ah. At least not this time.
Bio: Jeff Stimpson's articles and essays can be found on his website at jeffslife.net Jeff has also written a book entitled: Alex: The Fathering Of A Preemie.
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