Bad Tummy

“Mom, Mom. I got 12 checks today. Aren’t you proud of me?”

Jonah showed me his weekly check chart. Every day had ten checks or more.

When the kids are good listeners and pull out their math books immediately or promptly color in their assignment, the teacher has them put a check on the weekly chart taped to their desks. Typically Jonah gets only a couple of checks a day, while kids like Ava or Daniel get 10 or 12.

Jonah isn’t a bad kid. He’s just a daydreamer. Out to lunch. It’s not really his fault. He was genetically doomed. This paying attention thing is hard for him, but we’ve been gently nudging him to try harder. Do well, we said vaguely, and you’ll get Karate lessons.

“So, now that I have all these checks, can I get Karate lessons?”
“Sure, kid.” We were going to give him lessons anyway, but I didn’t say that.

We taped the check filled chart on the fridge and proudly showed Daddy when he walked in the door.

“Good show, Jo!”

Then everyone but Jonah got hit with strep throat. When he started complaining about feeling nauseous, I immediately took him in for a strep test. Sometimes that’s a sign of strep throat. The test came back negative. When he was still complaining of feeling sick two days later, I took him again for another strep test. Still negative.

The complaints stopped for a day. But the next day, after he sat down for dinner and had a big sip of milk, he ran to bathroom and barfed. Not a whole lot. No fever. This went on for that whole week of February break.

What’s going on here? Definitely not strep. Wasn’t puking enough for a stomach virus. I started panicking. I jumped on that express bus of parental hysteria, briefly stopped at food allergies and gastric reflux, but then zoomed on by to stomach cancer, chemotherapy, hair loss, and IV tubes.

I started keeping track of when the illness hits him, so that I could relay this information to his doctor. Always at dinner time. Sometimes after he drank his milk, but not always.

Yesterday at dinner about mid meal, he said he felt sick. Not again. He stopped eating and looked down at his noodles and tofu glumly.

“What’s the matter, Jonah?”
“Nothing.”
“Are you pouting?”
“No.”
“Do you feel sick?”
“I don’t want to talk.”
“Why?”
“I’m not talking to you anymore.”
Why?”
“I’m running away from home.”
“OK. Come back soon.”

Then he put his shoes and coat on and walked out the front door. Blink. Blink. What just happened?

I peered out the door and saw him pacing on the sidewalk across the street. He saw me and ran a little farther away, so I went back in the house. Ten minutes later, I called out the door.

“Jonah?”
“Yeah.”
“Where are you?”
“I’m hiding next to the house.”
“OK. Come in soon. It’s dark outside.”

Thirty minutes later, he came inside crying.

“I’m a bad, bad person and you’re going to be mad and not like me anymore. I gave myself extra checks on my chart and I even got a minus and erased it.” Then he cried his eyes out.

Oh. I pulled him on my lap and told him that he wasn’t a bad kid. Mostly, he was the best kid on the planet. And he should know that he could always tell me anything and I would still love him. And he did a naughty thing and he would have to put off Karate class for another week, but it was a good thing that he told the truth.

Funny thing. His stomach problem went away.