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I woke to a thudding noise that filled me with horror. Max was repeatedly standing up, walking a few steps, and then falling over. His incontinence had continued and after a few falls he laid back down on his sleeping mat. My father and I took him to the Langhorne Animal Hospital and in his weakened state I had to to lift him into the car, then into the hospital, then into the examination room. Some initial diagnostics suggested that he had a case of Lyme Disease that had blown out under his prednisone-weakened immune system. When done and while my father was attending to paperwork, I saw a family with a small girl walk into the hospital. The girl held a drawing in her hand that said “GET WELL SOON” and she said to her parents “I made Mittens a picture”.

My father was shaken by Max’s time in the hospital. He couldn’t physically move Max in the same way I could and I was also keeping track of Max’s medication. This has reminded my dad of his own limits but also reminded him that there are others. I’ve found the compassion required to care for this 82 lb dumb mass of incontinent, quivering, yet loving fur to be effortless and to tap into my “this is right” well that rarely gets touched. I hope I am equally able to draw from this well should the people around me one day need me to clean up after then, take care of their medication, and lead them through a medical structure where they have no idea what’s going on.

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Reason #18 of why I don’t like flying is that it’s roughly a coinflip as to whether or not I’ll come down SARS or some other infectious disease from the legion microbe factories called children.  This time the coin came up “Temporary Icy Grip of Death” instead of “Just Fine” and I came down with a wicked case of I don’t know what.  The first notable symptom was chills, which I first countered by wearing one then two lab coats.  I popped the collars so it looked like I was making a fashion statement.  Being surrounded by engineers and scientists, no one noticed.

The next notable symptom is by far the weirdest I’ve encountered.  All music sounded 30% slower.  My first response was to check that it wasn’t a device issue but both songs on the radio and over Youtube sounded slower.  Voice and ambient noises seemed unaffected.

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My reaction to a potential infection is like the TSA to a bomb-threat.  I take no risks and simply sleep until it’s gone.  I had the type of sniffle caused by a descended soft palette so I went through my normal routine of a tall glass of water and throwing the cat outside to make sure it wasn’t allergies.  20 minutes passed and it was still there so I went to bed.  I woke up at 7 AM, still there back to bed.  Same at 9, 11:30, and 2.  Around 3:30 PM the tickle was gone and I declared myself well.  This tactic does have its downfalls: I had called in sick but went to a Scout meeting that evening with my boss where I was loud.  Very loud.  “He’s not sick” loud.

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I was sent home yesterday by one of the camp’s august medical experts after having shat in multiples of 5 for the last few days.  All was well, I thought, until I returned to camp, had a sandwich whereas a four hour count-down began to colonic destruction.

Normally, I wouldn’t mind being sent home, except for I have no bed (it’s at camp), no air conditioning (we’re cheap), and no amazing computer (it’s at camp).  I arrived at home, scared the shit out of my brothe’s friend in the garage, and was promptly visited by my mother who didn’t otherwise know I was home.  At this point, I was sweating over a bowl of hot soup, using my laptop, while my mother kept talking about her damn new house.  I really wanted to go back to camp.

Later, after my mother had asked me to see her tree fort (as I call her new house) two dozen times I went to play Team Fortress 2, thinking my brother’s computer would do.  22 inches on a dual core is nothing compared to 30 inches on a quad core.  I really wanted to go back to camp.  My dad arrived later, said hello, and I rolled my eyes when he proposed we have a quality family meal…. from Taco Bell.  I figured if I was going to shit like a firehose I should at least have an excuse.  He then asked me if I would be home for a day or so.  I said yes, and he told me to mow the lawn.  I really wanted to go back to camp.

I went to bed last night in my room that was covered in stuff that had been put there thinking I wouldn’t be back for a month or so, and cleared space for an air matress.  I did, and it leaked, from like four different spots.  I figure I’d try it and woke up 90 minutes later to a scene that looked like a bad rip off of “Death Bed, the Bed that Eats People” as I sink into the vinyl chasm.  I repeat the re-inflation/absorption cycle a 1/2 dozen times before my brother pokes in, says “the bed has a hole in it” and tells me to pick up a package for him in Langhorne.   I really want to go back to camp.

If I have to fake health with enough Imodium to constipate a sperm whale, by God, I will.

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I was sent home yesterday by one of the camp’s august medical experts after having shat in multiples of 5 for the last few days.  All was well, I thought, until I returned to camp, had a sandwich whereas a four hour count-down began to colonic destruction.

Normally, I wouldn’t mind being sent home, except for I have no bed (it’s at camp), no air conditioning (we’re cheap), and no amazing computer (it’s at camp).  I arrived at home, scared the shit out of my brothe’s friend in the garage, and was promptly visited by my mother who didn’t otherwise know I was home.  At this point, I was sweating over a bowl of hot soup, using my laptop, while my mother kept talking about her damn new house.  I really wanted to go back to camp.

Later, after my mother had asked me to see her tree fort (as I call her new house) two dozen times I went to play Team Fortress 2, thinking my brother’s computer would do.  22 inches on a dual core is nothing compared to 30 inches on a quad core.  I really wanted to go back to camp.  My dad arrived later, said hello, and I rolled my eyes when he proposed we have a quality family meal…. from Taco Bell.  I figured if I was going to shit like a firehose I should at least have an excuse.  He then asked me if I would be home for a day or so.  I said yes, and he told me to mow the lawn.  I really wanted to go back to camp.

I went to bed last night in my room that was covered in stuff that had been put there thinking I wouldn’t be back for a month or so, and cleared space for an air matress.  I did, and it leaked, from like four different spots.  I figure I’d try it and woke up 90 minutes later to a scene that looked like a bad rip off of “Death Bed, the Bed that Eats People” as I sink into the vinyl chasm.  I repeat the re-inflation/absorption cycle a 1/2 dozen times before my brother pokes in, says “the bed has a hole in it” and tells me to pick up a package for him in Langhorne.   I really want to go back to camp.

If I have to fake health with enough Imodium to constipate a sperm whale, by God, I will.

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There’s been a few sick staff members around and staff humor has once again kicked in, these are two exchanges around the fact that I’ve had horrible diarrhea.

Pat: How are you feeling?
Me: Crappy

and

Pat: How’s the poo coming
Me: I’m going to call my rectum William Faulkner, because the only thing it’s produced is the Sound and the Fury.

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There’s been a few sick staff members around and staff humor has once again kicked in, these are two exchanges around the fact that I’ve had horrible diarrhea.

Pat: How are you feeling?
Me: Crappy

and

Pat: How’s the poo coming
Me: I’m going to call my rectum William Faulkner, because the only thing it’s produced is the Sound and the Fury.

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I woke up this morning and could barely see straight. I wrote an email to my boss saying I wouldn’t be and nearly fell of my chair. This continued until about 45 minutes after my father returned from work. Apparently recovered I prepared dinner and during its course he asked if I hated the peach-scented aromatic diffusers my brother had installed as much as he did. I found one, sniffed it and immediately felt dizzy. Superman’s weakness is kryptonite, mine is a peach-scented Glade plug in knock off. Needless to say, the Robinson’s household garbage smells quite peachy. I look forward to return to work on Friday and trying to kill my brother in his sleep on Saturday.

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I woke up this morning and could barely see straight. I wrote an email to my boss saying I wouldn’t be and nearly fell of my chair. This continued until about 45 minutes after my father returned from work. Apparently recovered I prepared dinner and during its course he asked if I hated the peach-scented aromatic diffusers my brother had installed as much as he did. I found one, sniffed it and immediately felt dizzy. Superman’s weakness is kryptonite, mine is a peach-scented Glade plug in knock off. Needless to say, the Robinson’s household garbage smells quite peachy. I look forward to return to work on Friday and trying to kill my brother in his sleep on Saturday.