Best of Three

With the stomach flu sabotaging our family, I figured Caleb was in the clear when the weekend came and he was still on top of things. Wrong-o. What started--and almost ended--as a lazy Saturday began to turn south after a quick trip through Panda Express. Chinese (is that what it even is?) makes me sick, but, for whatever reason, I needed to have it so we trekked over there for dinner. I felt miserable afterward, which is what I expected, but then the misery hit Caleb. He popped a few Gas-X and headed to bed. I followed shortly after only to be awakened by a sick-to-the-stomach husband. I retract my statement from earlier this week that I am getting over my fear of puke because, after last night, I clearly am not. So being the good, thoughtful wife that I am, I packed up shop, ditched my sick hubby, and headed to the futon on the other side of the house so as not to bear witness to those sights and sounds again. Sorry, sugar, you are on your own with this one. Or so I thought. Around 1 a.m. Caleb tracked me down and began describing an intense pain in his back that he couldn't shake. Kidney stones? Some sort of infection? I have no degree to diagnose these things, so I suggested we head to the ER and let the doctors take a look. When Caleb obliged to this idea, I knew he was feeling bad. So I wiped the zit cream off my face, gathered Jacob and Caleb, and off we went. Several tests, an IV, some drugs, and four hours later we were on our way back home. The doctor couldn't pinpoint anything wrong (relieving and frustrating at the same time), so he prescribed some anti-nausea medication (where was this stuff on Wednesday when I needed it?), told Caleb to take Tylenol for the pain and come back in if it doesn't go away. Caleb left the hospital wondering what was causing his pain and nausea, and I left wondering why real-life doctors are never as cute as the ones on TV.

Side note: Caleb is feeling better today. Tired and achy, but better.