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Hyperemesis Hyperbole

by Alan R. Wolcott

Projectile vomiting is a sight to behold. Not that I recommend it, but I have been a frenzied observer. It’s part of fatherhood, unless motherhood is nearby and she can be persuaded to participate in the aftermath. Sadly, I was condemned to be a single parent observer. Sheri was at work.

“Caveat Lector.” (That’s attorney speak warning you that if you have a queasy stomach or are a member of my congregation you should read no further—what follows is, well, bilious).

How does one comfort a child who is busily filling a coffee can which he has stashed on the headboard of his bed for just such a purpose? I confess I felt helpless, though mortified. My older son was finally taking his turn at bulimic purging after complaining of gut ache all day. What tipped me off was the sound, “Huunghh!” coming from his bedroom. He had just gotten back in bed after I had recommended a drink of water to dilute his sour stomach. (We didn’t keep any Tagament HB around as he hadn’t yet reached his teens).

I confess that as I stood in the darkened room and watched I hoped it wasn’t splashing off into the bedcovers. Just two days previously there was KP duty after my younger boy had set a distance record all over the stove. He also proved beyond rebuttal that our Creator has linked nasal and oral cavities somewhere above the esophagus! At least the kitchen floor is linoleum. Going back two more days, Rachel had raced to the bathroom on a similar expedition. Unfortunately, the hall is carpeted—I have gained an appreciation for Pine Sol. Who cares if it disinfects, it’s great as an air freshener!

Good news. He finished, cheerfully declaring, “I guess that water was all I needed.” Gingerly taking the coffee can, I had him stand for a few minutes near the stool, just in case. While he was expostulating about how much better his stomach felt, I checked the covers. The runway was clear! He crawled back in and the next I heard was how much better he felt next morning.

This should have been the end of it, what with three trials and all. But now we have a new topic of conversation for the dinner table—influenza. Did you know that sibling rivalry extends even into emetics? “Well I did it 3 times and filled the bucket up to here!” “Mine was worst. It covered the whole side of the stove.”

It’s enough to make you sick...