Little Moby Homemaker: Domestic God

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E.R. rrrggghhh!!!

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Moby Homemaker

I am an out of work "At Home Dad" who has risen from the ashes like an overweight, over worked, under paid phoenix to become a "Domestic God"

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By far, the worst aspect of parenting (besides the fact that you can never do anything you want anymore and your life is no longer your own for 18-26 years, per the new health legislation) is dealing with sick children.  Seeing your kids sick is just the worst. It's heartbreaking, scary and fucking annoying all wrapped up in one giant shit bag.  Today, this Domestic God felt all those emotions in addition to two others--one's I don't normally feel, overwhelming humility and sheer gratefulness.  Don't worry--if you think this will be all sap--you're wrong.  I was fucking annoyed most of the time...

This morning my wife left to accompany her 8th grade class on a trip to our state capital, Springfield, IL.  Wow, what a great fucking payoff for 8 years of adolescent intimidation and humiliation disguised as education!  Anyway, this trip just happened to begin on Day 3 of a hostage seige perpetrated by our youngest son, 5-year-old Little Rusty.  I call it a hostage situation because while this little guy battled the flu, I was metaphorically chained to the confines of our home.  The frequency of this kid's puking made it impossible for us to leave the house for more that 10 minutes, literally.  The eve before my wife's departure with 80 kids I don't know, or frankly care about, Rusty seemed to show some improvement in his condition.

My wife snuck out of the house early this morning, which was the plan she had explained to me.  I awoke to get the kids off to school.  This included getting Rusty back on the bus and into his routine.  I knew it was going to be bad when he vomited all over me as I took him out of the shower.  Clearly, this guy was still in the throes of the stomach flu.  I took him to his room, prepared his Gatorade and water and later brought him a banana.  I had spoken to the doctor earlier in the week and was made aware of the proper "diet for the exploding".

As the day went on, Rusty kept hurling and his fever kept rising.  He was lethargic as all hell, and it really started to worry me.  It is not uncommon for me to refer to him as "Bub" (short for Beelzebub) or the "Tasmanian Devil" because of his never-ending troublemaking energy.  This kid I was looking at could barely move.  The lack of chaos aside, I was scared.  My wife and I had texted throughout the day regarding his condition,  Finally, The Mrs. called me and explained that Rusty's doctor advised us to get him to the ER--he was  dehydrated and needed medical attention.

Holy fuck!  This is exactly NOT what I am conditioned and/or equipped for.  The boys' Mother always accompanied the boys in medical situations.  I'm good for the natural disasters, the financial collapses, the plane going down--little shit like that.  But, the ER???  Hella to the no!!!  Of course, I bitched at my wife and was a total dick about this crisis.  Needless to say, I was reminded by my better half  that I was, in fact a dick, and that this was, in fact, an emergency.  I got Rusty together and literally carried his wet towel like body to the nearest ER.

Christ Almighty--this was not the place for a snide dickhead like me.  I loathe waiting in line--and the ER is the ultimate in the test of patience.  First off, I had no idea that every geriatric in the area would be showing up at 4:00pm on a Wednesday.  Was there some kind of food poisoning outbreak at the Early Bird today?  And those who weren't the walking undead, were the morbidly obese.  Seriously, I was worried that Little Rusty and my combined weights wouldn't qualify for care in this ER's weight division.

All kidding aside, this place was a fucking zoo.  Rusty and I were given a chair and told that "it would be awhile".  Over the next three hours, my barely coherent son and I were front and center to a grown man barfing relentlessly at my feet (which I hated to break the news to him--I wasn't impressed.  I had seen that already several times today), cops bringing in a shooting victim, a really fat woman who "had something stuck in her", and a woman being told that her son "might not make it" after an auto accident.  Good times.

After nearly 3 1/2 hours, Rusty quietly demanded water--and the staff obliged him.  Once Rusty was admitted, they were wonderful to us.  The ER staff got him more water and ice chips and a warm blankey.  Rusty was scared shitless (an emotion this dude rarely shows, even to his parents) and they calmed him by bringing coloring books, crayons and loads of stickers.  After awhile Little Rusty was actually digging the joint and soon had all the nurses wrapped around his tiny finger.  His condition and demeanor were quick and dramtic in their improvement.  He was taking in fluids and keeping them down!

By the time the doctor arrived, the nurses were fawning over my charismatic 5-year-old.  Seriously, my wife and I are convinced that Rusty has all the makings of a rock star--or cult leader.  The doctor explained to Little Rusty that he had dodged a bullet and barely avoided an IV treatment by getting some much-needed fluids in him between his flirting with the different nurses and on-call staff members.  I fully expected Julianna Margulies and Maura Tierney to pop in and be dazzled and charmed by the miraculous recovery of my little boy!

The doctor prescribed my son some medication to help him out in the short-term.  I was just ecstatic to be done with this hellacious ordeal.  As we prepared to get the hell out of the purgatory on earth that is the ER, I saw the mother that had been told her son was in a serious auto accident earlier.  From the number of family and friends that had gathered and the song and prayer that was coming from their area--I knew it was not good.  As annoyed and scared my son had made me, my experience today was nothing compared to what this poor woman was dealing with.  She would've been thrilled to deal with the crap I did today.

Seriously, at one point I considered this one of the shittiest days of my life--until I saw what these people were dealing with in the very same ER as Little Rusty and me.  As we made our way out, I took my son's hand and never felt such a feeling of humbleness and a gratefulness for being blessed with a healthy little boy.  I don't know what happened with that woman and her son, but they are in my thoughts and prayers.  I pray that she gets the chance to be scared and annoyed by her son again...

Please destroy after reading.  It cannot get out to the rest of the world that Little Moby Homemaker has a heart...

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2 Comments

Jules said:

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Best one yet! A tad of the humble/grateful Moby mixed in with the normal sarcasm and smut is a best-seller!!

Daisy said:

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Well, you brought tears to my eyes with this one, Moby. I've been to the ER with my boys more times than I care to count. And yes, almost always there was someone there who was dealing with something much worse than what we were facing. It is a scary place indeed. It does help to put things in perspective though. I'm glad Rusty is doing better. Being sick is no fun.

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