Monday, July 19, 2004
A problem has come up that I am not sure how to deal with. To put it bluntly, Monsa hand is sick.
It started about 4 days ago. We were downstairs reading and every once in awhile he would sniff. Nothing bad, but I could tell his nose was running. A couple of days ago it went full-blown. It was more than just the sniffles, but something else. His nose is still running, but now he has a bit of a fever and feels achy.
My wife, monsa, and I sat down and talked about the situation. As we sat around the table we truly looked like a sad bunch. My wife had such a gloomy look about herself, Monsa was sitting there looking worn and tired from 4 days of illness, and I was just horrified that we were going to have to tell someone else about him.
I tried all of the normal remedies. Warm chicken soup (with chocolate sprinkles), aspirin, even Ny-Quil cold medicine and nadda. Nothing really helped him at all. He was starting to get scared, my wife had already passed scared, and I was truly just petrified.
We decided that we had to take him to someone who knows medicine more then us. We explained to him that this involved risk. The person could freak out and call some fruitcake scientist or something. After all, talking little monsters are not common.
Monsa was so ill he just nodded his head and muttered a feeble "OK" then fell asleep.
At that point my wife and I talked some more and decided whom we would take him to. Normal doctors were out. The rules and regulations do not cover monsters so they would try to get advice, and that scares me. So we decided to go to old doc Wilson. For one the title old is true in this case. A little past ancient, he still was as sharp as a rock, and he was a doc, well in a way. He was a veterinarian. We had known him for a few years in the local church. All the kids took their pets to him. Being retired we felt we could take monsa hand to him at his home and at least try to keep things simple.
So we got a little package together of monsa hands stuff. A few books, his Curious George stuffed doll (he sleeps in its lap when he is not feeling good) and a sampler of chocolate for eating and prepared to head out in the morning after a call to make sure that Doc would be home.
So tonight I go to bed worried about tomorrow and what may happen. The horrors your own imagination can create does not help the sleep process.
It started about 4 days ago. We were downstairs reading and every once in awhile he would sniff. Nothing bad, but I could tell his nose was running. A couple of days ago it went full-blown. It was more than just the sniffles, but something else. His nose is still running, but now he has a bit of a fever and feels achy.
My wife, monsa, and I sat down and talked about the situation. As we sat around the table we truly looked like a sad bunch. My wife had such a gloomy look about herself, Monsa was sitting there looking worn and tired from 4 days of illness, and I was just horrified that we were going to have to tell someone else about him.
I tried all of the normal remedies. Warm chicken soup (with chocolate sprinkles), aspirin, even Ny-Quil cold medicine and nadda. Nothing really helped him at all. He was starting to get scared, my wife had already passed scared, and I was truly just petrified.
We decided that we had to take him to someone who knows medicine more then us. We explained to him that this involved risk. The person could freak out and call some fruitcake scientist or something. After all, talking little monsters are not common.
Monsa was so ill he just nodded his head and muttered a feeble "OK" then fell asleep.
At that point my wife and I talked some more and decided whom we would take him to. Normal doctors were out. The rules and regulations do not cover monsters so they would try to get advice, and that scares me. So we decided to go to old doc Wilson. For one the title old is true in this case. A little past ancient, he still was as sharp as a rock, and he was a doc, well in a way. He was a veterinarian. We had known him for a few years in the local church. All the kids took their pets to him. Being retired we felt we could take monsa hand to him at his home and at least try to keep things simple.
So we got a little package together of monsa hands stuff. A few books, his Curious George stuffed doll (he sleeps in its lap when he is not feeling good) and a sampler of chocolate for eating and prepared to head out in the morning after a call to make sure that Doc would be home.
So tonight I go to bed worried about tomorrow and what may happen. The horrors your own imagination can create does not help the sleep process.
