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Amigo and I were traveling somewhere in a big city, but I didn’t recognize the place. I just know it was a big city and vaguely familiar. We stayed in an old-fashioned red-brick hotel that felt homey, almost dormlike. By day we kept going from one place to another using different forms of transportation: cab, bus, walking, even a boat at one point. Once in a while we’d retrace our steps to go back to another place, say, for lunch or to get something we’d seen earlier. As the dream progressed, he kept losing his white cane. I’d have to be his sighted guide and walk him quickly, almost drag him, back to wherever we’d been to find and retrieve his cane so that we could go on. This happened multiple times, and by the time I woke up I know he had asked to be carried and I’d said yes. To envision this scene, you need to know that he is four inches taller than I am and at least as heavy.
When I woke up, I shook the cobwebs from my head and got started with my morning routine.
When Amigo woke up, he was shaky with discomfort and pain, asking for a bucket because he felt like throwing up. Again. Still. He stayed home from school and visited the doctor again.
When Amigo woke up, he was shaky with discomfort and pain, asking for a bucket because he felt like throwing up. Again. Still. He stayed home from school and visited the doctor again.
Tonight, I hope I dream a solution or better, a cure.
>Oh that’s sad. I guess the feeling of helplessness when your children are sick doesn’t go away even when they are teens.