Great White Poo

There are moments that occur as a parent which belong in a Hall of Legends of Things You Survived.
Many times, you don't know these experiences will gain legendary status until after you have weathered the storm.

Just so with the Great Norovirus Epidemic of Eld-Mathis.

Our tale begins on a blustery Thursday night, with my arrival home after an exciting gathering that left me too inspired to sleep. "Not a problem" I opined, "I shall catch up somehow in the night."

That night, however, was never to arrive.

At 2AM I heard a sob emerge from Espen's room. Sometimes he has night sobs, which, while heartbreaking, often resolve quickly.

This one, however, built into a cresccendoing, "Mooooooommmmmmyyyyyyyy!!"

I bounced out of bed, still fresh from my illuminating evening and trotted into his room.

Whereupon he said, "My tummy hurts!!!" and then started making strange sounds in his throat.

You can easily see where this might be leading, but I did not have the advantage of the Omniscient Reader. I simply thought, "That's a strange, mid-chest kind of sound. Huh." And began to stroll with him in my arms towards the kitchen to make him tea.

Whereupon, Espen began to vomit. And sob. At the same time.

It cascaded down my neck, rolling gracefully over my chest as I tried to race to the sink.

Tobias slept on, in spite of the violent retching sounds of a kid tossing his dinner out his mouth and freaking out because it feels so disturbing.

I yelled. "Tobias! Get up RIGHT NOW!"

So he staggered out to find a vomit encrusted wife holding a vomit drenched 3 year old standing in a puddle of vomit all over the kitchen floor.

We processed to the shower where Espen and I washed the puke down the drain and Espen got his second wind.

Seemingly no worse for the wear, he bounded out of the shower and threw himself nudie onto our bed, shrieking with glee. Almost as if to say, "We're up for the day now so might as well PARTAY!"

The clock read 3.30AM.

We coaxed Espen into jammies and tried to ply him with treats of plain toast and tea, but he was ready to get cracking.

Until.

"Mommy! My tummy hurts aga....".

And that was the next many hours until daybreak. Back and forth between dry heaves, racing around the house like a maniac between vomiting sessions, and passing out face down on the floor, bum in the air when his body demanded a quick re-set.

I gotta tell you, I was just trying to keep up with him so I could try and force water down him and have a pan and hugs at the ready for the inevitable hurking.

When daylight broke, he raced into the bathroom and started shrieking. "MY BOTTOM HURTS!!!!"

He ripped off his diaper, clambered onto the toilet and had the most spectacular poo-ah-rea ever.

His little face crumpled. "WHY, mommy? Why is this happening to my body!!!!!"

Why indeed. Espen has been a remarkably healthy child and until this fateful day, had never experienced this kind of violence within his body. No puking, no crazy diarrhea, nada. So I could only imagine how baffling and frustrating it must feel to have your body ejecting things from every conceivable orifice without giving you forewarning.

That whole day was spent in a daze on the couch. I'll admit, we watched Youtube liberally and I was damn grateful for the thousands of videos on the International Space Station and amphibious vehicles.

Our story does not end here however. Oh no.

The weekend was just beginning, and Saturday was a day and a night away.

By Friday evening, Espen was starting to eat solid food and show some spirit in a sedentary, couch bound kind of way. By Saturday morning, he was reading to go hunt for spawning salmon in the Columbia River Gorge so we headed off for adventure.

About 3 paces up the trail, his strength and good spirits deserted him and he began demanding to be carried. Tobias and I were glad to oblige for awhile and then decided the salmon could wait for another day. After stopping for lunch and checking out Logtoberfest in Carson, WA, we headed back home for bed.

Espen ran to the toilet again. I waited for the tell-tail wail. Nothing. I looked at him closely. He was crying.

"Oh buddy, what's wrong?" I asked, concerned.

"My bottom."

"Awww, Wesp. Let me see."

He slid off the toilet and I peered in, expecting mayhem.

What I saw blew my mind.

White. Poop.

As in, Albino Shit.

For those of you who are thinking, "Was it pure mucous?! Did you take him to the doctor?!?!" let me just say, No.

It was just white, white poop.

I ran into our bathroom where Tobias was making a poop of his own.

"WESP JUST MADE A WHITE POOP!" I yelled, excited in a way that can only be described as The Most Amazing Thing I've Never Imagined Has Just Happened.

Tobias looked at me meaningfully.

I collected myself enough to stand on the other side of the door and talk rapidly about every aspect of the Snowy Poo.

Tobias emerged and walked to the potty. "He's been eating all white things."

I thought about it for a moment. Bananas. White Bread. Rice. Applesauce. Thank you BRAT diet for this wonderful opportunity to re-define bowel possibilities.

Thinking the day was over, we tucked Espen into bed and shortly after, hit the pillows ourselves.

Only to find myself awakened at 2AM with a strange rumbling in MY tummy.

And oh sweet Jesus, what a rumbling it was.

For the next endless hours of the night, I crawled, staggered and oozed between bathroom, bedroom and the floor.

Somewhere in the midst of this Apocalypse of the Gut, I recalled Espen on his hands and knees, heaving into the bowl. His bottom thrust skyward as his forehead of cheek rested on the cool floor. While this had seemed uncomfortable and tragic at best from my healthy perspective, it now appeared to be excellent advice.

I tried it.

To my everlasting delight, I discovered that it was in fact easier to projectile vomit from a hands and knees position and that when the world began to spin from dehydration, elevating the bum and putting your face on the floor really helps make the world stop rocking. I made a mental note to thank Espen when I could swallow.

Imagine now, if you will, Tobias staggering into my room around 9AM saying, "I don't feel so well."

And now, imagine that there are not one, but TWO adults covering every available surface with their puky-poopy bodies while Espen is feeling perfectly grand.

At one point, I recall being horizontal in bed, listening to the sounds of Tobias sicking it up in the bathroom while Espen said, "Sure, mommy, I can make you toast. You want a Popsicle and some applesauce?" And thinking, "I'm ordering from my 3 year old. He would survive without us! Amazing!"

And boy would he.

When Tobias and I emerged far enough from our stupor to look around we discovered that Espen was capable of opening new yogurt containers, eating close to a dozen Popsicle in a 10 hour period and making lots of toast.

I've never been prouder.