I’m totally devastated right now.

Kiddo’s grandmother had worked out a big trip for the two of them to go on. They were going to leave early Monday, catch a flight to Las Vegas, and then drive out to California for the week. They wouldn’t get back in town until Friday or Saturday after Thanksgiving.

At the risk of sounding like an absolute jerk, I was really looking forward to it.

The last month has been torture. Kiddo has been ill the entire time. Her cough started out dry, then became productive, and then she started coughing so hard that she would throw up. And then she started wheezing, getting little asthma attacks periodically throughout the day and night. So it’s been a constant battle. She’s been sent home from school twice, kept home once, and missed out on a ton of activities. Two doctor visits later we’re told it’s bronchitis in her right lung, and yesterday she was prescribed antibiotics.

Just in time, I had hoped for her to get better and go on this great trip.

Life had other plans, apparently.

I dropped her off with her grandma this afternoon and within minutes she was coughing and throwing up. A harbinger of things to come, I guess. But we decided to push through it, so kiddo and her grandma drove off and I went home. Feeling anxious, but hopeful that things would go well. The antibiotics seemed like they had some small effect today.

I ended up going home and relaxing…watched a couple movies, ate some junk food. Kiddo sent me pictures from where they were, they were having a good time. I was glad. Very glad. She needed this. I needed this.

Christina got home from her trip today. We haven’t seen each other in about three weeks. So she invited me down to her house. I left just after midnight and arrived around 12:30…looking forward to some company, and some relaxation away from home. 12:50…my phone was in my coat…I figured I’d check and make sure the volume was up so I’d hear it ring. You know, just in case. I checked it. Volume was up. Good.

I turned around and not five seconds later my phone was ringing. It was kiddo’s grandma…she was too sick to stay the night. She was bringing kiddo home.

I apologized and ran out the door. Drove like the wind to get home before kiddo and her grandma.

And now she’s here again. Trashcan by her bed. Back in the routine that we came up with so that when she wakes up wheezing and coughing and throws up, she doesn’t even have to get out of bed. I know it’s coming. I’m conditioned to it now. I’ll go to bed soon, but every time that kid coughs I’ll be awake and alert. I’ll lie in bed feeling sorry for her, and feeling sorry for myself. Her trip is off, barring some miraculous recovery. There’s no way she can go across the country in this condition.

She needs to get better soon, and I’ve tried everything. If these antibiotics don’t work, I really don’t know what else there is to do. Go back to the doctor, I guess.

But I needed this break. I was counting on this break. I felt bad, complaining about kiddo having to come home. But Christina said she understood. She said I sounded like a single dad doing everything on his own, and she’s right. When kiddo couldn’t stay at her grandma’s, I was it. She can’t go to her mom’s house. Her mom isn’t reliable. Her mom hasn’t watched her once during this whole ordeal. I’ve been the one cleaning up the vomit, taking off work so that she can go to doctor appointments and recuperate, waking up all hours of the night to worry about whether or not my child can breathe. And I know that I’m doing the right thing, and I take a lot of pride in being a good dad.

But God, I needed this break so badly.


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