Monday, June 25, 2012
Friday night we grabbed a quick dinner at the Whole Foods three minutes away. (It's only redeemable quality, really.) She didn't eat much and as we walked out, I noticed she was delicately holding her hand over her stomach. She didn't complain about pain and it wasn't in your typical stomach ache territory (like, lower down in the guts) so I just watched her.
We got home and it was late and she wasn't that stinky, so we skipped bath, threw her in some pajamas and into bed. She went down easily and slept thru till 6.
Up we all got the next morning and headed out to breakfast. (Contrary to available facts, we don't eat every meal out, I promise ye.) After we had our strawberry waffle and caramel pancake and ketchupy eggs and bacon (for her) spread delivered, she took a few measly bites, started holding her stomach and asked to leave.
Because this is a girl who has never complained of a belly ache, I started to get a little nervous. Took her into the bathroom and started poking her tum. "Ow! Ow! OW!!!!!" My own little tum dropped. There was obviously something terribly, terribly wrong.
Shoving a few more carbs in our faces, we gathered up cc and headed to the car. She held her stomach through the parking lot and then doubled over when we reached her door. Clay pushed on her tum, too, and she let out a howl.
"Is her doctor open today?"
"They'll have someone on-call, " I said. I felt sick.
"Let's call after she rests a little."
He strapped her into the seat and we buckled our belts. My mind raced with the exciting possibilities. A tumor, obviously. And appendicitis. And Celiac. And an even bigger tumor than the first one I'd imagined. I collapsed against the window and tried to catch my breath. I really couldn't believe this was happening to me. (To me! I know.)
As I closed my eyes, I suddenly thought of something.
"Glue. She has a patch of glue on her stomach from her arts and craft binge. And we never washed it off because she never had a tub."
He wasn't completely convinced, but I knew that was that.
We pulled in 10 minutes later and I hoisted her up on the kitchen counter. Dampened a tea towel. Lifted up her tiny tee shirt and took a peek. A big blotch of dried, amoeba-shaped glue pulled at her tawny skin. You know. Glue Skinitis. Kind of like cancer.
(I really need a therapist.)