05 Irish Eyes by Andrew M Greeley

Author:Andrew M Greeley [Greeley, Andrew M]
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

16

AFTER THE media people left, disaster overtook our family. Nuala became ill.

This was an absolutely unique event, because, save for morning sickness, Nuala protested that she had never been sick a day in her life. This day she, however, was really sick. She had caught whatever bug was affecting our daughter and was promptly laid low by it.

“I feel dizzy, Dermot Michael,” she said as we returned to the house with the remnants of our take-out breakfasts. “I feel like I’m gonna collapse.”

She did just that in my arms. I helped her lie down on the couch in our parlor and felt her forehead. It wasn’t as warm as the child’s had been the night before but it was still warmer than it should be.

“I’m very much afraid that my daughter has infected you,” I concluded.

“Then we’ll just have to give her away to somebody who has more immunities than I do!”

“Do you want me to call the doctor?”

“Oh, please do, Dermot Michael, before I perish with the bug, sure, I’m not long for this world!”

When Nuala was sick, even with morning sickness, she also became very funny. There would be a lot of laughing in the next couple of days. I didn’t care, I wanted my healthy Nuala back.

I called her internist and her OB doctor. Neither of them was available. Naturally. So I called my father.

“Couldn’t find her real doctors, huh, Dermot?”

“Yup.”

“I figured I’d hear from you this morning. That’s the way these family epidemics start. One of the kids gets it, then the other kids get it, then the mother gets it, and then finally the father gets it.”

“You’d better order prescriptions or whatever for me too.”

“It’s something they never warn you about when you decide to have children. You just have to take it for granted that you are going to be sick about half the time. I’ll call the prescriptions in to your local Osco.”

So I trotted down to the drugstore again, collected two bottles of each, and brought them back to the house. Nuala had not stirred from the couch on which she had collapsed. Fiona, anxious about the mysterious behavior of her mistress, stood next to her, feeling perhaps it would be more useful to watch her this morning than to watch the child.

“How is Nelliecoyne doing, girl?” I asked the dog.

At the word Nelliecoyne she bounded up the stairs, at about the same speed Nuala would bound, and with the same amount of noise, to check on the baby.

“Are you awake, Nuala Anne?”

“I’m not awake, Dermot Michael. Haven’t I died and gone to heaven? Promise you’ll take good care of me daughter and me dog.”

“I brought the medicine.”

“’Tis too late altogether for medicine. I’m not long for this world.”

I made her take medicine just the same.

“Nuala, you’d better come upstairs and go to bed. You’re not doing yourself or anybody else any good down here. You have to get as much rest as you can.”

“Dermot Michael, would you ever make me a hot toddy with Irish whiskey and lemonade?”

I helped her up and led her to the stairs.

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