Not Much Difference Really

Panic. Panic. Panic.

Woog is moaning underneath the blankets. Clutching them up to his chin. Curled into himself like a shrimp. Shivering, burning, shivering.

Mom. Sniffle. Mom, my head is dizzy. My feet are cold. Mom. Mom.

Thirty-five years does not prepare you for the sight and sound of your son's first full-blown fever-chill. Not when the Biogesic fails to work. Or the cool sponge bath. Or the glasses of water. Or the two layers of blankets, one of which is thicker than his tongue.

Panic. Panic. Panic. Should I call an ambulance?

Eli is looking at his mother in wonder. She is fluttering about like a headless chicken. Totally useless female. He clambers up on the bed and tries to warm his brother by leaping upon the bundled-up febrile form. Maybe all Woog needs is a good romp to start him sweating again.

Ooomphff. Mom. Eli is bothering me. Go away, Eli.

Leave Manong Woog alone! He's sick!

'Tick, Eli says. 'Tick! 'Doog 'tick!

Mom, my bones are owwie. Mom.

I could give him a massage. Accupressure-something. Where did I read that?

I rummage through the medicine box, hunting for the ever-reliable cure-all. My bottle of Polar Bear. That menthol-eucalyptus essential embrocation that has seen us through headaches and toothaches, mosquito bites and back pain, clogged noses and sore throats. It will help Woog's owwie bones, at the very least.

But it is missing. I upend the medicine box on the bed. Gone. Who had it last? I rack my useless brains.

Oh! Woog did. For his asthma. I run to the adjoining room and start pawing through Woog's baskets.

Panic. Panic. Panic. Oh, my poor fevered and shivering son.

Woog! Where did you put the Polar Bear, I call, still ransacking through his well-ordered belongings. Woog! I yell louder, fear making my voice hoarse. Where is the Polar Bear?

Footsteps thundering on the floorboards behind me. Eli.

He lifts up his worried eyes and offers me:

Bear, he says, bear.

He is handing me Blue Bear. His comfort plushie of choice. Bear, he says again, gifting me with a frown of anxiety and his most precious possession.

I am nonplussed. I can hear Woog in the other room. Laughing, shivering, laughing.

Oh, 'Pet.

I gather Eli and Blue Bear in my arms, the object of my quest forgotten. Woog is still laughing hysterically in between bouts of shudders. I start to laugh, too.

Bear, Eli declares adamantly. He hands the toy to his brother, who is too bundled-up to reach out, and too shaken up with mirth to take it.

Eli eyes the laughing lunatics. Perhaps this is an inside joke, he thinks. If it is, he doesn't get it. But he starts to laugh anyway. If you don't get 'em, join 'em. The one who laughs last, and all that...

Our laughter subsides to snickers more than half an hour later. My panic subsides with it.

Woog is fever-free the next morning, and decides to do a whole day TV-thon. All is well with the world. Eli and Blue Bear with it.

Not much difference really