50 for 50: 2004

YEAR: 2004

AGE: Turned 34 on Nov. 6

LOCATION: SLC, Ramona Avenue

UTAH FOOTBALL RECORD:12-0

SONGS I LIKED: "Boulevard of Broken Dreams" by Green Day; "Mr. Brightside" by The Killers; "The End of the World" by The Cure; "Vertigo" by U2; "Behind These Hazel Eyes" by Kelly Clarkson

MOVIES I SAW: "Saved"; "Shark Tale"

TV SHOWS I WATCHED: "Arrested Development"; "Joey"

VIDEO GAME I PLAYED: Final Fantasy I and II

CONCERT I EXPERIENCED: The Cure/Interpol

Yesterday's post discussed how parenting is solving one problem after another and enjoying everything in between. Today's celebrates how parents get the job done, no matter the circumstances.

This is one of my favorite stories to tell, and I think I may have written about it on this blog but can't find it. The Utah football team that fall went undefeated, and I was scheduled to work on a Saturday, just like I worked every Saturday. I can't pinpoint the exact day -- there's a possibility it was actually on my birthday, which fell on a Saturday that year, though with the events that transpired, I think I would have remembered if it was my birthday. Reasonably, I think it was Nov. 13.

The fall day afternoon was lovely, and we had been out and about, deciding to go to Hires Big H for lunch, where a carhop brought our food to us a la Superdawg. Our order included the restaurant's famous cheese fries. Lunch was delicious.

We drove home afterward, and I started to prepare for work. In the shower, my stomach started feeling weird, but I didn't think much of it and eventually drove downtown.

At work, my stomach kept churning. After a while, I began to realize that I probably would be throwing up soon. Except it didn't happen soon, even standing in front of the toilet in shifts thinking it would. I've never been able to make myself throw up, so I just had to wait. I gagged a few times, but nothing happened. Eventually, after a couple hours of feeling sick and trying to get some work done, I threw up a little and told my coworkers I was going home. 

I took the elevator to the fourth floor of the parking garage across the street, and now, with a toilet nowhere in sight (and a garbage can designed in a way I couldn't barf into it), my stomach fully reversed gears. I don't think I have ever thrown up as violently as I did in the parking lot that day. I'd vomit, stagger away from that spot and vomit again before I could stabilize myself. After about five of these convulsions, I got in my car and drove home.

I threw up again when I got home, then went right to bed and turned on the radio to the Utah football game. Lori had Michael in bed with her, and he had already fallen asleep. I was nearly dozing off when we were both awakened by the unmistakable sound of Michael throwing up -- a lot. This wasn't normal spit-up; whatever was making me sick was making him sick. Lori called the Kids Care near our house to see if she could bring him in -- the time was around 9:30, and the clinic was open until 10. We found a new sheet for the bed, she put Michael in his car carrier, and I was about to settle back into bed while she took the boy to the doctor.

About 20 seconds after she closed the back door, the doorbell started ringing furiously. Lori had stepped wrong off the back stoop, and in her quest not to drop Michael, twisted her ankle badly. I helped her back in, and she was bawling. Her ankle hurt, and she didn't think we could get Michael to Kids Care before it closed at 10. My brain formulated a plan. I told her to to call the clinic again and cry just like that and explain what happened and that we might be a few minutes late. I would drive both of them to the clinic, vomiting be damned. 

I began to walk to the bedroom to put shoes on, but took a sharp left turn into the bathroom where, for the last time that Saturday, I threw up again. 

My body was shaking by the time I got in the car. The night was cold, and the car was taking its sweet time to warm up. Lori almost started crying again when she saw me convulse briefly following a chill that racked my body, but I told her I was fine.

The funny thing was, within two minutes of that, I was fine. We got to the clinic and I felt great. OK, maybe not great, but I didn't feel as sick or as cold. I had a sick child and an injured wife, and my body responded with, "You know, this isn't so bad," and some sort of inner Hulk kicked in. The nurses brought Lori a bag of ice for her ankle, and the doctors checked Michael out. I don't even remember coming home or going back to bed. We weren't feeling perfect the next day, but whatever bug we had -- or the cheese fries -- passed. 

Parents get the job done. When you're loved ones need you, you take care of them first, no matter how tough it gets. Lori says I'm a bit of a baby when I get a cold, and she might be right -- but if I need to come to the rescue for her or the boys, a stuffy nose or wheezy chest won't get in the way. I just hope we won't need to test that theory in the middle of a pandemic ...

Oh, I haven't been to Hires Big H since. Is 2020, on my 50th birthday, the year I flirt with a repeat of the worst vomiting of my life?

Maybe I'll just skip the cheese fries. Anyone in the mood for onion rings?