Hugs and Drugs

Like the prospect of hanging, having a sick child concentrates the mind wonderfully. (Course he also said that no one but a blockhead writes but for money, so what does that make me?) I don't give a shit who dives out of Wall Street windows; just gods, gods, gods, make her stop waking up crying at 1 a.m.

She askes me these scarily grown-up questions in our rocking late-night encounters, ones that run through my own mind as well. So perhaps that means that my questions are simply childish. You be the judge.

"What if this never stops?"

"It'll get better, baby, I promise."

"I'm so tired of being awake. I want to sleep. I never want to wake up at night again. What if I never sleep?"

"Remember last night? It started feeling better and you got back to sleep. You will. You just have to give it some time. Give the medicine a chance to work."

"What if this never goes away? Will I ever be able to play with my friends again?"

"You will. I promise. We'll make it better."

"But I'll still remember what this feels like. I'll have the memory of this and it will never go away."

"The memory will go away, too. You can help make it go away."

"But if I make the bad remembering go away, will the good memory go away too? How can I keep the good rememberings?"

"You just keep putting the good thoughts in instead of the bad. Who's the boss of your mind? Who's the queen of your mind?"

"I am."

"You are. Right. We'll all help make it better together."

And on and on, over again. I have no idea what I'm doing. This line of questioning isn't supposed to start until the college years. I want to punch doctors who are reassuring, yet am stuck with nothing more than being able to be reassuring myself. (BTW, it's nothing horrible, don't worry; just very, very uncomfortable and difficult for her, between medicine and side effects.) And I don't, don't, don't want to be at work (where I'm sneaking this in while waiting for a late client because if I don't write something real I'll go nuts). I passed a store window with a t-shirt on display: "Lucky Mom, 24/7" and about lobbed my coffee cup thru the window. If I were 24/7 mom none of this would happen, she would never get sick, the world would be peaceful, the market would be humming, right?