9 February 2009
Although Dabi’s fever is subsiding, it is persistent, and aside from giving him modern medicine (which I actually cannot do for fear that such powerful and directed stuff would send his little body into shock) I can do nothing but continuously encourage, nay, beg Wurdia to take him to the clinic. I try to bribe him with candy (thanks Reagan and Ginger) to drink lots of water; I try to coax him into eating; all of these attempts fail at the blank stare he gives me as the heat radiates from his skin causing me to sweat as I hold him. He is stubborn and in that I love him; dearly.
I’m going to see Liza today. Maybe she can give me some advice, maybe she will be the person that I need right now. She usually is and if she isn’t she seems to know it so she stuffs me full of American food and lets me stay the night. She sits with me, commiserates and sympathises, changes the subject and suddenly I’m smiling because I’m winning at uno. She is the ticket, man. The real stuff. There are ways about her that remind me of Janna); words she uses that bring me to memories of long talks with Brett and sweet embraces that timewarp me back to Patrick and Brandon.
On a more practical level, maybe she’ll know something I don’t – that is greatly possible. Maybe her experience at IST wasn’t as pathetic and useless and degenerative as mine.
Maybe she will give me the hug and the strength to do this.