It started at 1.45am in the morning.....no perhaps before that. Looking back littlest son was off his food the day before. At dinner he had said he was tired. Not hungry. Just asked to sit on his father's lap and have his tummy stroked. An 'ouchy' tummy he had said.
Within minutes he was alseep. Farmer son lifted him into his bed.
Fast forward to 1.45am. A quiet house. I wake to the pitter patter of littlest one's feet. Him pulling himself up on my bed. He is moaning and clutching his tummy. It hurts he tells me.
I pull him in to bed beside me. Our middle of the night meetings are common. The crampy tummy is not.
Usually he settles down to sleep again. Not this time. He winces, twisting and turning. Writhing in pain.
I stroke his tummy....he settles. I turn over to try and catch up on what is left of my sleep.
He is quiet for a time. A short time. Then again he writhes, wincing, clutching, whimpering.
I sigh. I don't do well without sleep.
'Please Lord, heal his tummy' I pray.
The lord prompts me with scripture.
'What you do for the least of my people you do for me.' Matthew 25:40
And then the golden rule
'Do unto others as you would have done to you.' Mathew 7:12
I turn back over and give littlest one my full attention. I wile away the night moments stroking his tummy, praying over him, massaging his back lightly.
I adminster pain relief to no avail.
He twists and turns, writhes and struggles with pain more than he lies still, free of cramps.
I begin to wonder if it is something more serious than my initial idea of it being something gastro.
Finally I decide. 'Shall we go see the doctor? I say. He nods weakly.
'Stay here in bed while I get dressed.' He lies back on the pillows only to squirm again in pain. He contorts, desperate to rid himself of the pain. Desperate to find a position of comfort. It is futile.
Now he sits on the edge of the bed. Pain etched across his little face. Half dressed I stop to sit beside him.
'It hurts Mama' he says it quiet, his voice full of anquish.
He hops down and paces as I find pants to pull on.
Then he's away running.
He makes the bathroom just in time.
The hospital trip is abandoned. My instincts were right.
Again and again into the wee small hours the only trip we make are the ones to the bathroom.
Finally in the pre dawn hours, tired, drawn, sore, we make our way, his tummy still cramping, to the shower. I close the shower door on him, hot water soothing down on his broken wee body.
I open the door. He looks up. 'Don't leave me!' he pleads.
I step into the shower and sit down on the floor. He comes and sits on my lap facing me. His head drops to my shoulder. Hot water streams down, washing away all the bad.
'Thank you Mama' he whispers.