Terror

It may be my lack of emotional ability to deal with Elijah’s illness, but it was more serious than I let on. If not for Diana carting him back and forth to the hospital twice and the doctor’s three times, he could have been in far rougher shape. Like going blind shape. Like an infection in his brain bean shape. So officially, Diana. Thank you. I love you.

As I said the other day, he has been able to snap back fairly fast. But he isn’t 100% yet. The only real side effects from being so sick is he lost some weight and he is behind on his sleep.

Oh, and he has the night terrors.

Last night, he screamed as if a rabid gremlin was chewing his face seven times. Seven. Times. Diana took care of him six times. The one time I dragged my post-Blackhawks win body into his room, Eli was in a deep sleep, hysterical to the point where I was deeply frightened, all while laying on his back furiously kicking his bedroom door.

Let’s compare what the internets says you should do in this situation to what I did last night.

Rule #1: Don’t speak to the child. Attempting to soothe him will intensify his terror. (I stuck my face in his face and shouted, “Eli! What’s wrong with you? Wake up! Wake up!”)

Rule #2: Don’t say his name. This can make him more upset. (See my failure of Rule #1.)

Rule #3: Don’t try to vigorously wake him. He will think he is being attacked. (I wonder if holding Elijah’s arms and legs down while shouting his name in his face counts?)

The internets say it will go away in time. But sheesh, I was fairly close to walking him down to the Indian Catholic church two doors down for an impromptu exorcism. But that would’ve involved me putting my shoes on and stuff.