32. Come What May (but please not that)

June 23, 2023

There’s a sticky note posted on the inside of my home office door with three words I heard in a recent meditation lesson — a mantra that helps me manage life on the other side of that door.  

“Whatever happens in any moment…whether it’s beautiful or hard…you can always make it through to the other side.

Come what may.” 

What comes, at 3:30 a.m. on the first morning of our vacation up north, is the sound of vomit splattering on the laminate floor in the hallway outside our VRBO’s master bedroom. 

By the time I shuffle my son slipping and sliding into the bathroom, the first round of puking has passed.  

Get him washed up, fresh clothes, strip the soiled sheets off his bed, sop up the hallway with towels, hunt for a mop and supplies. Washer/dryer here, yes… but the laundry detergent bottle is empty?!?

Sigh. Come what may. Undaunted by life’s set-backs. Right. 

I run to the store for cleaning supplies, crackers, and Gatorade, while my husband changes the sheets and monitors the boy, who has started into the next cycle of spewing. 

Oh, Happy Father’s Day. 

We have been lucky – our child has not thrown up in years. Took us a bit to remember how this goes down.  

A stomach bug requires that I keep my eyes on him, alert for signs of imminent puking, so I can help him quickly aim for a suitable vessel. He gets annoyed with my watching him and reaches out often to turn my head away. 

No matter what kind of illness, we usually don’t realize our son is sick until he is SICK. No remedies to “take at the first sign of illness” for this kid. When he was younger, he had strep throat that we didn’t know about until it had gone untreated long enough to develop into scarlet fever. 

Until you’re caring for an adult who can’t express his internal goings-on, you don’t realize how much proper medical care is predicated on being able to describe your symptoms to someone else. 

We don’t know when he has a tickle in his throat or a headache coming on or getting that “punky” feeling. It’s hard to feel the heat of a fever on a person who prefers not to be touched. We figure it out only after the symptoms become full-blown and very much external.  

And, then, we deal with it the best we can. 

Come what may.  

What comes, on this beautiful weekend, is scrubbing floors, wiping down baseboards, walls and doors, washing sinks and toilets, changing clothes (his and mine), doing loads of laundry, and jumping at any hint of gagging. 

Later, we’ll play the game of are we getting sick, too, or is that queasy feeling just exhausted-stressed-haven’t-eaten-itis? (I always expect to be ill when my son is sick. My husband calls me “psycho…somatic.”)  

But a weird calm descends. I’m attending to this moment for my poor guy. There’s no room for anything else. Can’t wallow in disappointment over missing out on woodsy hikes and my boy’s cousins and relaxation. I’m too busy bathing in...this.  

I’m present here and that’s all.

Well, I’m not taking any long, slow breaths to get settled into this moment (this particular moment smells pretty vile). 

But right now, shit’s like this. 

The sick one lets me read to him, Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, and he sleeps a bit on the couch. But mostly he’s restless, pacing, and pained. His typical comforts – of food, of everything in its place – are lost as his stomach fights him & nothing is orderly or neat. We’re all mad here. 

I follow him around with a bucket. 

Every couple of hours, I allow small bites of crackers and sips of Gatorade, beg him to stay outside on the back patio, away from the rug and the cute cabin décor, until I can be sure we’re past the destructive bits. 

Aaahhh, fresh pine scent.

What comes, by 4 p.m., is a decision to cut our “vacation” short, having been vomit-free for several hours. We don’t want to risk spreading this to the family we’ve come to visit, and if anyone else is getting sick, we’d rather be home before it hits. 

I text with the VRBO owners, apologize, offer to pay for extra cleaning and a new duvet cover, apologize again. 

We pack up for our 3-hour car ride back down the hill (the one we’d come up not 24 hours before).  

But first, my husband runs to the hardware store. 

Because, sure, we can be mentally prepared to gracefully handle whatever happens in this life, come what may. 

But it also doesn’t hurt to have a bucket handy.  

P.S. We made it home, with a miraculously dry bucket and clean car, and are feeling better all around. :) 

Special thanks to Matthew Hepburn for his guided meditation, “Becoming Dauntless,” on the 10% Happier app.