Invalid.

Caleb has been sick since Friday night--sick in a way that has, thus far, necessitated eight different kinds of drinks, hand-washing every fifteen minutes, nearly constant attention, a trip to Primary Children's ER, and enough soap to stock a small third-world country for a month. And, no, we're still not done. Today is the first day he's shown interest in watching movies or TV, and on Saturday he didn't even want to talk to Grandpa on the phone. In short: he's been entirely miserable.

The ER trip wasn't as traumatic as being told to take him to PMC's ER. My whole life, that's where they do amazing work on the sad little cases of terribly sick kids, so when the doctor on call told me it was time to take the little barfer there, I cried--in the backyard where he couldn't see me freak out (after staying up all night and cleaning up vomit for 28 hours). He threw up in the car and at the hospital (as expected), but after telling each hospital employee he could see about his Han Solo figure, he fell asleep.

Amazingly, he didn't even cry when they gave him an IV. He'd been asleep but woke up when the needle went in (unsurprisingly), and he hardly complained through the whole hour it took for the fluid to drip into his arm. We got home at 3 AM on Sunday.



Since then, there's been no more vomit (hallelujah!), but given the rate at which any sustenance leaves his body (in the other direction now), it's no surprise that he's still listless and prefers lying to sitting. We were told to expect these symptoms for 2-4 more days, so it all continues.

As someone who's never spent more than 24 hours with a barfing virus, it's been wrenching to watch him suffer through all this--having to convince him to eat jello and drink gatorade/juice/flat pop (all the things he never gets to have), not wanting to even expend the effort to watch Cars or Astro Boy or even talk to his good ol' Grandpa. Boo.

Maybe tomorrow he'll feel like sitting up and eating something.