“Do we have anything that remotely resembles
ibuprofen?” the youngest kid asked. And
yes, he really did pose the question as such.
I think mainly because I’ve spoken to both of the kids like they were
little humans from birth and not cutesy-poopsy, brainless baby blobs. I have encouraged that one speaks like they
were somewhat intelligent beings.
He was standing in front of the kitchen cupboard
where medication has been housed for longer than I’ve been alive. It’s the same cupboard where my grandma
stored the Vicks Formula 44-D, Tums, and Alka-Seltzer. He might as well have been speaking
Greek, though, because it didn't register in my brain what he was asking.
“Huh?” I so eloquently inquired.
I’ve noticed as I’ve gotten older, that is as I’ve
spent more than forty years on this planet, that often times I mishear
things. Mostly it’s when I’m only half
paying attention. Commercials on TV are
the worst. I’ve looked up to the screen
convinced that they’re selling singing penis covers when what they’ve really
said is something about Cingular cell service.
I don’t know.
Things start knocking around in the synapses in a way they didn’t used
to, and it makes for some strange conclusions that I draw. I bet it’s a lot like having dementia except
I still have the ability to pause and asked what the hell and analyze the
situation before being convinced that Bob Barker just was on the TV telling me
he now works for Roto-Rooter.
The kid once again repeated his request. “I. Bu. Pro. Fen. Do. We. Have. Any?”
Recently, I started taking Topamax for a bevy of
muscle/Fibromyalgia issues. I won’t get
into the tiring details of such. It’s
nothing life-threatening. A huge pain in
the, well, muscles, but nothing I can’t deal with. However, one of the side effects of this
medication for some people is that it purportedly can make you dumber than a
box of rocks. As evidenced by the above
example, one might assume that my kids have already put me into that category
even though I haven’t shared with them the potential side effects.
“No, sorry.
We’re out. Take some aspirin,” I
suggested, which I don’t believe I’d ever done.
Mainly because I knew there was some reason that youngins’ shouldn’t
take aspirin. I attempted to explain it
was okay that he took the aspirin now because he is 19 years old, and I didn’t
think he was at risk to develop whatever syndrome it was.
“What syndrome?” he asked.
Did I mention one of the other side effects of
Topamax is aphasia? Aphasia is the
difficulty remembering words that you’re needing while speaking or writing. When it strikes, I don’t think a thesaurus
can come to your aid. It’s like losing
the total ability to even describe what it is you mean. Say for example you want to say apple. It’s like you no longer know it’s a red
roundish fruit that has seeds, grows on a tree, and was planted by Johnny
Appleseed. It can also cause you to
replace strange words in place of what you really meant to say.
“Oh, I don’t remember. There were signs up all over the place in the
drug store when I was 19ish or so warning about this syndrome. It had something to do with flu type
symptoms. Maybe the chicken pox. It was
kind of weird because all we took was aspirin back in the day. Nothing better than a chewable baby
aspirin. Now those things tasted
good. And grape Dimetapp? No one complained about having to take a
spoonful of that when you were sick.”
He continued to give me this blank look, waiting for
me to make my point, or remember if he took aspirin at that moment would it
land him in the hospital with some sort of tropical disease that could be
prevented if his mother could remember some important information about why
kids shouldn’t take aspirin.
“Just take it.
You’ll be fine.”
I guess he figured since 19 years had passed and he
was still alive that I could be trusted.
The train of thought continued in my head:
Epstein Barr syndrome?
Raymond Burr syndrome?
Roseanne Barr syndrome?
I did finally discover it was Reye’s syndrome once
my head cleared a little and I was able to formulate a Google search with
appropriate terms to convey what I was trying to figure out.
Though, that Roseanne Barr syndrome – I think I’ve
made a self-diagnosis.
Am I sometimes inclined to offer inappropriate,
unladylike gestures? Yes.
Do I live in a household where the mess should be
excused because we live here, the children aren’t perfect, and problems aren’t
always solved in a half hours’ time?
Yes.
Have I ever felt that I live on a nut farm or should
be? Yes.
Have I ever defined myself as a domestic
goddess? Yes.
Have I ever felt if my kids are still alive when my
husband gets home from work that I’ve done my job? Yes.
I’m no doctor, but I suspect I don't suffer from Roseanne Barr syndrome alone.
I've created a fan page on Facebook here:
http://www.facebook.com/pages/Kelly-Coleman-Potter/212737235506584
, if you're inclined to click like. Share with your friends and I'll be
eternally grateful.
No comments:
Post a Comment