Karen Kelloway

Around midnight – nine hours before the bell would ring for the first day of school – my husband and I were having a whispering debate about how to treat our eleven-year-old’s flu symptoms. Tristan had called us into his room to let us know he was thirsty and his headache was getting worse.  We suspected he was going to throw up any moment because his symptoms had been building all day.  We didn’t want him to miss his first day of school. So, there was a bit of denial happening. Like maybe this will pass. Maybe he won’t throw up. Maybe
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