If there’s only one thing you learn when you are the parent of a child with an unusual set of health needs, its this:
Every injury or cold becomes worse than the Ebola virus in your mind alone.
Yesterday Robert suddenly started complaining that his tummy hurt. Not in the “I am going to hurl” way, but in the “it hurts too much to move” way. So naturally, I was freaking out. And then I decided to exacerbate my hypochondria by going to WebMD.
He’s either got cystic fibrosis and worms, or he’s pregnant.
Yeah, that sounds about right.
But, my brain is even more of a pain in the butt than WebMD. I thought about his enlarged spleen (leukemia!!), his need for ultrasounds (it’s a tumor!!), the fact that his father’s appendix blew up when we were in college (it’s not a tumor!!), and various other scenarios only vaguely tied to Beckwith-Wiedemann Syndrome.
I was just about to whisk him away to the emergency room when he asked for something to drink. After the drink he perked up a little and color stated to come back to his face. Then he asked for some dry cereal. After eating he seemed much better. Within an hour, he was running around like normal.
My paranoia has been temporarily shelved. Because apparently it was gas.