Dad Post #232

Megan is pretty terrified of throwing up. I realize the phrase 'pretty terrified' is a touch noncommittal and oxymoronic, but I won't diagnose her with emetophobia just yet. For several reasons. I'm more of a doctor like Julius Erving than Mehmet Oz, for one thing. (Funny how arrogance feels good even when confused with self-deprecation and totally unfounded.) There's also my hesitation to use the word 'vomit.' Dictionaries prefer it to its wonderfully vivid alternatives (puke, hurl, heave, blow chunks, toss cookies, and so on) but 'vomit' is like 'penis' and 'vagina' to me; I would rather use other expressions. For example, 'private parts' and 'reproductive anatomy' and 'you know, what I'm talking about, right?' are my go-to substitutes when treading carefully among the birds and bees with M 'n' m. Yes, I'm very clear. So Megan and I use 'throw up' instead of vomit, and if a threatening symptom arises, Megan will shudder and shake and recite like a mantra, "Am I going to throw up, Daddy, am I going to throw up?" I hold her and kiss her hair and assuage her fears. Poorly. She remains terrified. The primary harbinger, of course, is a stomachache, and unfortunately this agitates, when one is anxiety ridden, a kind of self-feeding, self-fulfilling death-spiral of queasiness. At that point it's like a roller coaster ticking up its steepest incline. Slowly, tauntingly, it sends the message: The 'drop' is inevitable. Wow, has there ever been a better metaphor? I have mentioned my discomfiture with everything M 'n' m are hereditarily predisposed to. They are sensitive. They will not have unfeeling lives. And an unfeeling, unthinking moment is exactly what you want more than anything ever when you're anxious and nauseous. I'm still learning to quiet some of my thoughts and fears also, Megan. My mind is indeed a monkey, distracted and jittery and double-fisting two of the four wisemen (Jack, Jim, Johnnie, Jose). Although monkeys use their feet differently than we do; they can probably sip all four. But someday our minds will slow just a teeny-tiny bit. I hope. And pray.    

Overactive minds, panic, and OCD aren't strangers to my family. I've noticed that achievement and creativity aren't strangers, either, when those 'other guys' are around. But those other guys can be intrusive and rude; so it's best to observe, oppose, and manage them.

Speaking of the four wisemen (which is a way-uncool reference to them I'm sure), there's a particular answer to Megan's question – "Am I gonna throw up, Daddy?" – that she's not quite ready for: "Yes, Honey, I'm afraid you will throw up someday when you and your friends get a five-gallon pot and a ladle and a bag of Solo cups. Oh, and you'll excitedly splash together a super-fun mix of Kool-Aid and Everclear." I did it with my friends. And I spent the night – except for some unpleasant and violent interruptions – sleeping on an exquisitely cool bathroom floor. I'll never forget the coolness of the ceramic tile on my cheek, as I sweated, groaned, and curled myself into the fetal position. Don't do it, Megan, but if you do, you better call me, so I can kiss your hair (and hold it out of the toilet).