Note to readers, I wrote this last year and never got around to publishing it. You will be happy to know that Drew’s Disease seems to have been wiped out… at least for the time being.
My third born has a gift. The gift of faking illness. He could easily win an academy award if they had a category for faking out your mom on Monday morning.
It took us a while to understand Drew’s reoccurring bouts of sickness – which we eventually began to refer to as ‘Drew’s Disease’. Drew’s scheming, I mean agony, often began on Sunday nights. He would suddenly roll into a tight little ball of pain. He moaned. He groaned. He twisted and turned. Trust me, to the uninitiated, it was quite alarming.
At first, the Country Doctor and I did not understand the cyclical nature of this horrifying illness. After watching our son writhe in pain for several hours, while the typical antidotes seemed to have no effect, I demanded that the Country Doctor take Drew to the nearest big city emergency room. We did this because we knew that taking Drew to the local hospital would only result in him being transferred, and also, the local docs are all a bunch of quacks.
As Drew and the Country Doctor drove an hour to the big city ER, Drew’s symptoms seemed to subside. By the time they checked in, he was still in pain but much better. Four hours later, when he was finally seen, Drew was unclenched and relaxed. They ran a few tests, took some blood, poked him, prodded him, but nothing seemed out of order.
Drew remained at home for several days that week, missing school, and getting stronger every day. I sent him back to school on Thursday. He was fine, healthy laughing, eating, playing…until the NEXT MONDAY MORNING!
Suddenly, without warning, the extreme intestinal, abdominal pain came back and knocked him flat again! Drew missed a few more days of school, but then bounced back with the alacrity of a toddler, eating cookies, kicking his brothers, complaining about what I had made for dinner. We greeted the old familiar Drew with joy, glad he was back and in working order.
UNTIL THE NEXT MONDAY – when the illness struck again with a ferocity that brought us all to our knees. Drew crept into our room before daybreak – clutching his stomach, bent double, tears streaming down his cheeks. I placed him in our bed, gave him a Pepto Bismol tablet, and crept off to Drew’s bed to get a little more sleep.
As I lay in Drew’s twin bed… I slowly began to piece the past weeks together. This wretched illness – occurring on or around every Monday. I reflected for a while on Drew’s innate dramatic talents, his Irish brogue, his jigging skills, his wily Spaniard, his opera singer, and I wondered… COULD MY SON BE A GIGANTIC FAKER!!!
Drew went to school that Monday and he has gone every Monday since. We are winning the battle with “Drew’s Disease” one fake attack at a time. He continues to work on and improve his act, but his audience has grown weary of the same old, same old. Doubled over, tears streaming down his cheeks, clenching his ribs in agony, moaning, groaning, frothing at the mouth. it no longer moves us. Our eyes glaze over as we reach for the remote and tell Drew to please move over, we can’t see the TV.
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