Last night, as a meeting I had wound down, Daughter was doubled over with pain. She almost had me convinced something was seriously wrong. I promised her something for the pain when we got home, and she insisted it wouldn't work and she couldn't take it because of her other medications. I began to wonder if she was having a brain aneurysm or something. Outside I was calm, but inside I was pondering a trip to the ER. We got home and she put on her PJ's and took her pills, including Tylenol. I gave her a snack, but she tried to convince me she was too sick to eat it. I turned on the TV to catch the Sing Off, and miraculously, her pain was forgotten.
I live in fear that someday I won't get her the treatment she needs, because I won't believe her when she tries to convince me she's dying. We've talked about this numerous times. I've told her the story of the boy who cried wolf numerous times. Sometimes, though, I feel like I'm beating my head against a solid brick wall. I should be the one with the headache.
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