Next Stop, Nurses' Station

I have known a few superhuman creatures in my life, and many of them are nurses. They attack the messy, the complex, the recalcitrant with grace and gentleness and vigor. TJ has been messy, complex and recalcitrant since we too him to the ER last night after a listless day of coughing and vomiting every drop if fluid we managed to get down him. He was admitted and treated for dehydration, given buckets of IV fluids, eventually some antibiotics, a chest X-ray and several rounds of respiratory therapy, poking prodding, vital-signs checking, offers of toys and crayons and ice pops.

He's staying again tonight.

The poor guy has a  very sore throat, exacerbated by the vomiting and coughing and the fact that everyone forgot he had been taking pain medication every 4 to six hours.  As a result, he was completely uninterested in any of the exciting offerings on his clear-fluid diet. The doctor changed the order to a soft-foods diet. Nothing appealed. TJ asked for an ice cream sandwich, but it was "too spicy."  Then came the aha moment. The pain medicine! The nurses worked their magic and it came in, in a syringe  shoved into a glass of ice, like a shot of silvery vodka. Once it took effect he asked for blue ice cream. I am ferrying some back to him, wondering how he will have upped the ante by the time I get back to stake out my spot on the recliner. It's clear that TJ has no control over his environment and he is holding fiercely onto what little control he has. It's also obvious that the pain in his throat and nose and esophagus and tummy and ears and the memory of the pain of the last few days,  is a powerful factor. But how can he win the game and win a pass out of the hospital? Ah well, maybe the novelty of peeing into a jug will wear off.