Poorly sick

Dylans not well tonight. He seemed okay earlier but a charicteristic *cough cough blurgh* gave the game away just before bedtime. 

Thankfully Dylans not really been a sickly child. He’s had his fair share of coughs and cold and the odd tummy bug. But no broken bones. No operations. No emergencies.  I realise how lucky we are.

*cough, cough blurgh*

I’ve gone to Dylan twice tonight on hearing his distinctive vomiting call. He loses the ability to communicate totally. He looks up at me with desperation in his eyes, overwhelmed by the unfamiliar sensation of nausea; unable to verbalise, point or use the iPad.

*cough, cough bleugh*

All I can do is try and reassure him he’s okay, that he’s doing the right thing trying to relax and let it all out and follow him with the bucket. He paces around and vomits wherever he is when the sensation arises. 

There’s vomit up the walls, on the curtains. All over his clothes and in his hair. I start to run the third bath of the night. 

*cough, cough, bleugh*

Finally  all washed and with bedding changed I settle Dylan back into bed with a clean bucket. The washing machine downstairs is whirring away on its final cycle. The bath is bleached and freshly  soiled bedding has been hand-washed all ready for next load.

*cough, cough…*

I pause,  hold my breath to see if this is the same cough as before. Trying  to detect a pattern. It’s the only way I can tell if he’s about to puke again. Dylan has no way of telling me. It’s all guesswork. 

*cough cough cough*

He’s just coughing. I exhale deeply. After all he has his bucket if he needs it. I quickly finish up bleaching the floor and wiping down the walls. My hands are sore from the chemicals and constant rubbing and scrubbing,  I dry them and go downstairs to lock up. It’s 11pm. I wanted an early night and came up to bed before the drama started at about 9.30m. Feeling tired now. The washing machines finished so I empty it and reload it with half of the partly hand-washed sicky bedclothes. Lights off and I make my way back upstairs. 

*Cough cough bleugh*

Poor boy. It’s going to be a long night.

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