Monday, October 3, 2011

Suppositories Saved Our A$$e$ — Almost

Flying 4 hours to San Francisco for Munch’s 1st birthday wasn’t the problem; it was coming home.
  • Eating on the plane? Piece of cake.
  • Sitting still? No sweat.
  • Humoring the creepy, overally hands-on, flight attendant? Smiles all the way.
I thought, Gonna be a great trip!
  • Day 1, we accomplished 1 of 3 planned events. Forgot that the kid has to sleep. Crap.
  • Day 2, we managed to ge to both the Wharf and Alcatraz.
  • Which brought us to Day 3: Giants baseball game.
A dream scenario:
  • Best ballpark in the country.
  • Wifey’s first visit to SF.
  • Munch’s first baseball game.
If we could only do one thing on this trip — just one thing that I really cared about — it would be — this ballgame. And then, we had to wake up.
  • I broke a fever in the middle of the night.
  • Munch woke up crying hysterically with a temperature of 103.
  • And Wifey felt nauseous with morning sickness (she was 2 months pregnant with "K2")
We are going to miss this game. Crap!

And then, like the morning sun burning off the gloomy fog:
  • A cold shower? I was right as rain.
  • A ginger beer? Wifey was fresh as a clover.
  • And most importantly, Feverall suppositories? Munch dropped under the magical number of 100. Jackpot. PacBell Park, here we come!
Sidebar: When Wifey asked me to give Munch suppositories, I told him to open his mouth. Wifey shook her head and pointed to his pants. And, I remember saying, "You're shitting me." No pun intended. I removed the pants, undid the diaper, and slowly inserted the suppository into his — well, you know — "never region."

The fever would hover around 100 for the next 24 hours, and we gave him suppositories every 4 hours, praying we could make it home without it getting worse. And just as our plane took off for home, it got worse. Much worse.

The plane's air conditioning was broken, and Munch was radiating more heat than the California sun.
  • 1st 30 minutes: crying — no, shrieking. I’m that parent. With that kid. Damn it.
  • 2nd 30 minutes: sleeping. Thank you, Lord.
  • Next 5 minutes: Milk to cool off. Not our best idea. Note to the world: Don't give milk as means to rehydrate.
  • Next 30 seconds: Boom went the dynamite! Projectile vomit all over himself and Wifey.
We stripped Munch down to his diaper, took off Wifey’s jacket, and shoved all contaminated clothing and his favorite blankie, Raffy, into a plastic bag. Crisis averted — until Wifey lifted her arm.

The stench from the vomit mixed with the hot air and made me (and surely others) dry heave for the next 3 hours.

Happy Birthday Kid.

Does anyone else have a vacation story to share?
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