Where's Miracle Max when I need him?

Jun 9, 2013

Another midnight migraine snuck up on me, waking me in the early hours with a crushing headache. I crept downstairs to pop 600mg of ibuprofen, an effort too late, so chills and sweats and then violent vomiting. All Erin could do was leave me sleeping on the cold bathroom floor. Eventually, I crawled into the bedroom for the comfort of the carpet floor.

Oliver was in the room, and he must have seen me. I heard him asking Erin about the shape on the floor.

“Is he deyad?”

“No, he’s not dead.”

“Mom, is he deyad?

“No, he’s not dead.”

I mustered some energy. “Erin, he’s saying ‘dad.’”

This morning at the family breakfast — Erin baked Pillsbury biscuits and filled them with eggs and cheese — we had a laugh about the sleepy exchange.

“I sure felt like I was dying,” I said.

Erin replied, “I should have said, “He’s only mostly dead.”

Anton Zuiker

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