Sunday, February 22, 2004

2:57 AM

This time the baby threw up at 12:48 AM, after getting a small amount of liquid Tylenol. Yes, we are using the advice nurse available by phone. The poor girl is pretty perky and game once she is cleaned up. She found a book and wanted me to read it to her. Stood on her own two feet. Did the same thing last night. The baby rejected the flavored Pedialite. We had already used the unflavored type. After opening it, you have only 48 hours in which to use it, which, in actuality, means to throw it out. Kids rarely drink any of it, and apparently it is an ideal medium for culturing bacteria. Hence the time limit. By 1:35 AM I had cleaned the bathroom floor, and mixed some rehydration solution under my wife's instruction, eaten a banana. My wife bade me to try to get some sleep. She would comfort the baby. Here's an small piece of artwork an Indian friend gave me, which depicts a mother taking care of her children. I lay downstairs on the couch. But even when the moaning, or crying, of the baby is on the other side of the house, it yanks you back out of your gathering slumber. Because of this Chinese water torture, I cannot sleep and have not been able to sleep for several nights. I am sure that there is a generic, non-racist term for Chinese water torture, but I don't know what it is. Drip. Drip drip. Drop. I went in to the room where my wife was comforting the baby, and confirmed once again that the water torture is vastly to be preferred to the adrenal task of actually holding the baby. Much to be preferred. That's more like going over Niagra Falls in a barrel. Hold on. This wee-hours blog entry is my fond hope to maybe burn some energy, exhaust myself, and get back to sleep. I am listening to really depressing public affairs programming about the destruction of the environment, using a $9 tiny personal FM radio I bought in preparation for my recovery from the spinal tap. This thingy is almost as satisfactory as the expensive iPod, since I love listening to the news. I remember lying on the couch, drifting on Vicodin, listening to the radio as the ground attack on Iraq commenced March 20, 2003, the day I had my wisdom teeth removed. It was weird, but the ability to listen to news, no matter how alarming, was comforting that day. After the second day I got spiritually tired of the Vicodin, and switched to ibuprofen. It worked out fine. That was long before I found out I had ALS. The whole wisdom teeth thing is another example of a series of incidents which interfered with my usual tendency to exercise, and certainly to play basketball. When they are sniffing you for ALS, they do ask you if you have had surgery. There is some reason for this inquiry. I forget. But if it could somehow mean that I am temporarily afflicted, I am in favor of the theory.
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