Friday, April 24, 2009

Like a Shaken Bottle of Soda

It'd been years since I'd last thrown up. Mom was always there gently holding back my dark hair with one hand and wiping off my sweaty skin with a cool damp cloth with the other. To pinpoint the exact location of most of the "occurances" would be rather easy. It was the living room, also known as my bedroom for the greater chunk of my life. I spent the majority of my time there because my brother wasn't always welcoming to his twelve years younger sister, and his room was his.
To take the nausea away somehow I imagined that I needed to think good thoughts, but they couldn't involve food. In fact, when I was sick, nothing around me could involve food. No commercials, no microwaves going off, and definitely no special remedies to be taken orally. Mom was a germ nut while raising me. Instead of pointing to the toilet or directing me to a waste basket like some parents do, she supplied a slew of perfectly opened and ready to be grabbed plastic baggies that could be knotted and tossed in the garbage easily. She was also quick with the television remote to mute the ooey gooey casserole commercials from being heard.
Mom always took extra care to make me comfortable when I got sick. She stayed by my side like a loyal lioness, performing her own made up versions of reiki to take the pain away. This usually involved gentle touches and lots of internal praying. Somehow through the flinch inducing muscle spasms of letting everything out, and the moments when the pain caused me to cry, her nurturance worked, and I got through the discomfort. I even felt better when I got sick because I knew she'd always be there.
It's a funny thing how children seem to get sick more than adults. I grew up dreading the next stomach bug or head cold that would ultimately take me away from my friends and fun, and I noticed how the adults could manage their less frequent issues so much better than I. Beside a few hellish years of stress in high school, I managed to hold down whatever I ate for many years into my twenties. I didn't catch any bugs, and I even provided the comfort to mom and my boyfriend when they got sick.
That all changed yesterday.
I was awoken by my own rumblings around three o'clock in the morning. The blueberry smell wafting in from the kitchen did very little to help the nausea. Both of my parents had been working extra early shifts, so they were bustling about getting ready for the day. I had trudged in from a late night cheesecake fix at a very well known chain factory and crashed to sleep on my old bed -the couch. Needless to say, there were foot squirms, leg jerks, and stretches all in the hopes to salvage my sleeping state. I wasn't so lucky. It was coming- all banana/strawberry slime, and it was coming up fast.
Mom got the bags, the towels, and the reiki out of her special toolbox and held my hair back as I hacked up the partially digested remains of a dessert-date with a girlfriend. I have to admit it felt good to be taken care of again and to know that whenever I really need her, my mom is still there, and she's still got it!