Brandon has been sick all weekend. And probably will be off his feet for a few more days.

He has been trying to cut down on his sodas. So it was hard to figure out last week if his headache was a withdrawal headache, a migraine (which he does get occasionally), or a sinus pressure headache.

By Friday it was apparent that it was his sinus. Imagine quarter your head from middle of the top of your head down to your cheekbones and out your face. That’s the area that hurts him and more so when he leans forward or move a certain way.

Brandon is one of those who have high pain threshold. So if he actually tells me his head really hurt, it can’t be good. Now that it hurts badly enough to make him throw up, we really are in a pickle.

Late on Friday night, I came to bed to him sweating bullets. On my side of the bed. Figures. I spent the next few hours sleeping on top of the comforter wrapped in another blanket.  Every time I felt awake, I reached over to feel his head.  In vain, really because I didn’t remember if what I felt.

He developed high fever that night. And he got to the throwing up point of pain threshold.

Needless to say, we canceled our long-awaited Port of Long Beach boat tour on Saturday morning. Instead, we spent it in the waiting room at urgent care clinic.

We left 2 hours later, armed with 12-day worth of antibiotics and a handful of Vicodin. Both should be taken with food, however Brandon can barely hold down Saltines.

He would get some colors back in his face and was up and about for a while once the pain killer kicked in. The pain was kept at bay and he could be himself for a little while.  But then he would be overcome with nausea that being pain free was more of a consolation prize.

A little vicious cycle going on here, a constant battle of nausea and stomach irritation from the pills.

I just sat and watched.  Nothing I can do for him.  Unless I have a magic wand to wave it all away.  Alas, I’m no Harry Potter in that regards.

So I went on with my days, leaving him behind.

Off I went to the Long Beach Tweet Up Potluck I helped organized while he zonked out on Saturday night, living out my living room rock stardom playing Rock Band until late.

Off I went to the grocery store this morning while he was dead asleep.

Off I went baking up a huge batch of banana muffins which I cannot seem to stop eating while he can barely hold down water and crackers.

I did make him a huge bowl of Jello…which seemed a little too sweet for him at this point.  I stock the fridge with 7Up and coffee table with crackers.  I make sure the carton of beef broth is front and center in our pantry in case he needs a bit more than just water and crackers.  I left out the box of Sudafeds which he was supposed to continue taking and the little hot compress bean bags which is supposed to help him feel better.

That was all I could do for him. And I feel so guilty about not being able to fix his ailment. About not being able to make him feel better.  About not sticking around to see if he’s okay.  About baking up a storm when he can’t really eat.

In a weird way, it feels like it did when I was sitting bedside with my mom when she was in the hospital.  Everytime I got her to react to us like squeezing my hand, or smile, I felt better.  If I could fetch her some ice chips, I felt better.  Anything I could do in a small way, I felt better.

But when I had to leave for the day, or if I wasn’t by her side first thing in the morning that day, or if I went with my friends instead, the guilt took over.  The entire time I was away from my mom’s side, I only enjoyed 70% of it, if that.

I mean, Brandon just has sinus infection, for crying out loud!  I’m already hating myself for not being able to do anything about it, for not being at his side at all times.

You can see why I’m not ready for parenthood.  I mean, I can’t imagine what I’d do with a sick child! I’d worry myself bonkers.

In sickness and in health. This is where I stand.

I can really use a magic wand right now.