Treating a pain
Pardon my lack of enthusiasm, my distracted air. No, nothing’s wrong (I hope). I’ve developed a tummy ache.
Back when I was eight, this would have been something I could trade in. For some TLC, I mean. The sort administered by the chief of nursing, my mother. She’d have given me solace, perhaps a bit of time with a hot water bottle. Based on my own experience, the cure would have worked, and I would have gone on to getting older.
Back when I was eighteen, this might have prevented me from yet another night of partying. After all, residence life in university is one big party, interspersed with stressful moments in the study phase. Leading to, you guessed it; a tummy ache. I have put those years behind me, since a degree is supposed to compensate for all that pain.
I’m now an adult. I can’t complain, because the kids have their own priorities. I have to care for their tummy aches, in the great generational progress plan. I’m back to taking care of my own pain.
I’m enough of a hypochondriac to consider the possibiliites. Acute appendicitis: no, not localized enough. Cholera: I’d be the first in the area, and I’m rarely first for anything, any more. Something I ate: did the checklist. Something I drank: ditto. A kick from a mule; no livestock on the premises.
Could this be, (doing the checklist) related to kidney stones? Doesn’t feel right. No tummy ache would feel “right” but this is different. Until I develop more interesting symptoms, there’s no ride in an ambulance on the calendar.
There’s still a hot water bottle around here, somewhere.
