Chapter 31- Sick Day

"Dad? Daddy…wake up…"

No, please no. Please don't make me wake up. Sheer exhaustion battles with my sense of responsibility. I've been up and down with an uncharacteristically fractious Holly all night and feel like I've only just fallen asleep. It can't be morning already.

"Dad…I'm sick."

Responsibility wins out and I grope for the bedside lamp and open my eyelids a crack, seeing Mac standing at the side of the bed looking miserable. "What is it?"

"My stomach hurts." He crawls into bed and lays his head beside mine on the pillow. The smell of vomit on his breath is so strong it practically makes my eyes water. "I puked."

"Oh god. Where?" I sit up and brush his hair back from his hot forehead.

"On the stairs…I'm sorry." His blue eyes well with tears. "I didn't make it to the bathroom."

"That's okay buddy, you couldn't help it. No big deal - I'll just go clean it up."

I nearly puke myself when I see the mess. I can't even remember what we ate for dinner, but the evidence Mac has left splattered and dripping down half the staircase would suggest that he ate a hell of a lot of it.

The stairs…why the stairs of all places? Does the universe really hate me that much?

I trudge down to the basement and grab the cleaning supplies. I deliver a bucket to Mac, then fill the other with a mix of hot water and bleach and get to work. I've only just finished the last step when there's a noise on the top step and I look up to see Noah trailing his Banky behind him and looking down at me.

"Careful," I say. "The stairs might be slippery. I've just had to clean them because Mac was…"

Noah leans forward and gags.

"…sick," I finish glumly.

With a sigh I reach up and grab Noah under his arms, swinging him down several steps so he won't have to walk through his own puke. I give him a hug and kiss his cheek, noting the clamminess of his skin. "You okay?"

"I don't feel good," he mumbles into my neck.

"I bet you don't. Why don't you go and rinse your mouth out, and then you can get into my bed with Mac if you want. He's got a bucket…I'll clean this up and then come and check on you."

Noah stumbles towards my bedroom and I get back to work wiping and mopping, being gloomily grateful that we'd decided against carpet on the staircase when we converted the attic to bedrooms. By the time I'm finished cleaning the sun is up, and there's no point even thinking about trying to go back to sleep.

And for a day that began so badly, it only gets worse.

Holly wakes up with a diaper blowout so disastrous that it requires her entire crib to be stripped of bedding and an immediate bath to clean her up. She screams the whole time, which wakes Bram and Zeke who join in the caterwauling.

Daisy stomps down the stairs, demanding to know why there's so much noise and why does out house smell like a janitor's closet? It's hard to tell, but I think she might look paler than usual and given how much time I've just spent cleaning vomit off the stair treads I question her suspiciously about how her stomach feels. She insists she's fine, takes a shower and gets ready for school, and then eats a bowl of oatmeal and frozen raspberries. Five minutes later the whole mess comes back up again and she concedes that perhaps she's not, actually, fine. At least she makes it to the toilet before she throws up. She lies on the sofa, miserably clutching the largest plastic mixing bowl against her chest, and I switch on the tv for her.

Mac and Noah both wake and vomit again. Noah gets it in the bucket, but Mac misses and pukes all over my bed. I rinse out the bucket, strip the bed, and move them into the living room with Daisy before I drag piles of stinking bedding down to the basement and start a load of laundry.

Holly drinks half her morning bottle and then cries until she pukes it all back up again. I change her clothes, pace around the living room rubbing her back and singing tunelessly until her sobs slow to hiccups and she falls into a restless sleep, and text Jonah that I won't be in to work today.

Once Holly's asleep in her swing and the three older kids are hunched under blankets clutching buckets and bowls and staring at the tv, I think I might get a moment of respite. I sit down on the floor and lean against the side of the sofa and close my eyes…only to have a whining Zeke climb onto my lap and puke his breakfast back up all over both of us. Just when I think that this is it, the lowest moment of my life and it can't get any worse, Bram clambers into the mess on my lap and casually vomits jelly toast and oatmeal all down my neck.

Well, isn't that just wonderful.

There's nothing for it but to carry the two of them into the bathroom and put all three of us in the shower, despite the sobbing and shrieking. The little twins might love bath time, but they hate showers and it's all I can do to keep the door shut with my foot to stop them escaping while I scrub the three of us clean. As soon as possible I turn off the water and dry them off.

"It's all right, it's all right…" I pick up two teary, sniffling toddlers and give them a hug. "I know you don't feel too good. Let's go to your room and find some clothes and then Daddy'll get dressed and we'll see about some Pedialyte or something…"

I step out into the hallway and see Angela, who has let herself in the front door and is hanging her coat up.

"Oh damn," I say. "I meant to call you and say not to come! The kids are all sick and you don't want to catch it…oh shit. Sorry."

Suddenly realising I'm naked I swing one of the toddlers in my arms down a little in the hopes that he'll cover everything up, only to stagger backwards with a high pitched yelp as his heel connects solidly with my testicles. "Aaargh!"

Angela looks a little pink, but she laughs as she steps closer and reaches out for one of the twins. "Don't worry about it Emmett, I'm not looking…I'll fix the boys up while you go and get dressed."

"Right. Yeah…sorry." My face flaming, I leave Bram and Zeke with Angela and hurry back to my room to find some clothes. I throw on the first things that come to hand, hearing Holly beginning to wail from her swing.

"Okay baby Holly, I hear you but you're just going to have to wait a second…" I say, grabbing some baby wipes and using them to frantically clean up the mess on the living room floor from Bram and Zeke. "I'm just going to clean this up…"

Holly cries louder.

Daisy moans and stumbles off the sofa, heading towards the toilet. A second later Mac bolts after her, then I hear his hysterical shouting as he finds the door locked. He runs back towards my bedroom, heading for the en suite, but he doesn't make it. And this time it's not vomit.

"Da-ad!"

"Okay, okay…sorry Holly, just one more second…" I leave the baby and find Mac in tears in my bathroom, and kneel down beside him. "Okay buddy, don't get upset. You're sick, it happens…you need to get in the shower though. Use mine in here, that's fine…" I help him peel his pyjama pants down, careful not to spread any more mess around than absolutely necessary, and see him into the shower. "Holly, I'm coming!"

Angela beats me into the living room, scooping Holly up out of her swing and snuggling her close to stop her crying. "Hello baby girl…oh, I think you need a new diaper, don't you? Emmett, what's going on?"

"They're sick," I mutter, "They're ALL sick. Look, I'm really sorry but can you change Holly while I sort out some laundry?"

"Sure."

I grab Mac's pyjamas and then bundle up the vomit spattered clothes and towels from the little twins and I and carry the whole fetid pile down to the laundry and rinse it off in the sink. The earlier load is just finishing and I swap it to the dryer and start another, and then search through the crate of medical supplies we keep in the basement until I find the tin of Pedialyte powder.

"That diaper was pure liquid diarrhoea," Angela informs me as I re-enter the kitchen. "Her butt's really red. I slathered her in lotion but we'll need to keep an eye on it."

"Yeah, she woke up in a mess this morning." I take Holly gently from Angela, and the baby buries her face in my neck as she cries. "Thanks for cleaning her up. Look, you should probably go home…I'm not going to work today and you don't want to catch this."

Angela pushes past me and reaches into a cupboard for a plastic jug. "Don't be silly; you can't possibly deal with six sick kids on your own! I've got an economy sized tub of hand sanitiser in my bag and a strong constitution – I'll be fine."

I laugh, tenderly rubbing Holly's back. "Are you sure? I feel like I should offer you hazard pay or something. I mean ALL of them are sick, and it has to be a virus – I ate the same things they did yesterday and I feel fine, and Holly's sick and she doesn't even eat solid food. And so far today I've already had to clean the stairs, the sofa, the living room floor, my bed, Holly's crib, myself…"

"And that's exactly why you need someone else here," Angela says, picking up the can of Pedialyte and reading the label. "I'll make some of this up for the kids, but it says you should talk to a doctor before you give it to an infant under a year. Maybe you should give your dad a call and check with him about what's best to do for Holly?"

I was genuine when I told Angela to go home, but as the day wears on I am fervently thankful that she was willing to stay. Dealing with six sick, unhappy children is a nightmare. Holly never wants to be put down. She cries for food, and whether we try milk or Pedialyte she simply pukes it back up, and immediately cries for more. I change her the second I notice she's pooped, but her diaper rash is horrific. Daisy, Mac and Noah at least aim their vomit at the buckets and (mostly) get their diarrhoea in the toilet, but Bram and Zeke seem to have no idea what's happening and just puke wherever they happen to be. I have no choice but to toss several picture books in the trash after one incident, and almost the entire contents of the living room toy box end up soaking in buckets of bleach after another. The state of the diapers is unspeakable. For hours all Angela and I do is rinse out buckets, wipe up messes, run loads of laundry, hand out Pedialyte and crackers, and rock and hug and soothe crying and unhappy children.

There's something of a respite in the late afternoon. Holly finally drops off into a deeper sleep and is able to be put down in her crib. Daisy and Mac are feeling a little bit better, and cautiously eat some applesauce and goldfish crackers while they watch a movie. Noah and Zeke fall asleep on the sofa, and Bram lies on the floor, listlessly running a wooden train along a curved section of track as he stares at the tv.

"I thought I should run to the store," Angela says as I come up from the basement with a load of clean bed sheets. "We're almost out of Pedialyte. I think most of the kids are on the mend, but it would still be good to have some on hand. I thought I'd buy some soup and bread for dinner too – something simple that the kids can eat with a tender tummy. Is there anything else you want?"

"Laundry detergent," I say, going into my room and beginning to remake the bed. "I've just put on another load and we're running low. Grab my bankcard out of my wallet, pay with that."

Angela follows me into my room and helps with the bed, tugging on the opposite corner of the sheets. "How are we for diapers?"

"Bram and Zeke still have half a box or so, but Holly's almost out," I say, folding in my corner of the sheets and then sliding a pillow into a case.

"I'll pick some up." Angela tucks in the sheets and fluffs up the comforter. "We should keep an eye on her. If she doesn't take something and keep it down when she wakes up I think it might be a good idea to ask your dad what we should do. I'm getting worried about her; this is an awful stomach bug and she's still a little baby."

I nod. "Yeah, you're right. I'll let her sleep for a little longer and then see if she'll take something." I longingly eye the freshly made bed – it's been a hell of a day and I'm exhausted.

Angela leaves, and I rinse off all the toys soaking in bleach and leave them to dry, sort out some of the laundry, hand out the last ice-encrusted popsicles to Mac and Daisy and a newly awake and cautiously hungry Noah, and then flop down onto the end of the sofa. Bram climbs laboriously onto my lap and slumps against my chest. He whimpers a little, like he's miserable but too tired to make any real fuss, and I wrap my arm around him and rub his back with my big hands. He feels heavy and warm, and as I touch him his body relaxes and his breathing deepens into the rhythm of sleep.

I don't realise I've dozed off too until a gentle hand on my shoulder brings me back.

"Emmett?"

"Huh?" I yawn, and rub at my eyes, glancing across at the movie and seeing that the movie is up to the final scenes. Shit. I must have been out of it for a little while – what's happened? But Bram is asleep on my chest, Zeke asleep on the other end of the sofa, and the older kids are draped around the room in various states of lethargy.

"It's Holly." Angela leans over my shoulder, her dark eyes anxious behind her glasses. "I'm really worried…you need to come and have a look at her."

"Okay." I gently move the sleeping Bram to the sofa and stagger to my feet, following Angela down the hall to Holly's room.

"I was going to try and get her to take a few sips of Pedialyte," Angela says, indicating the bottle in her hand. "But she wouldn't wake up properly and she seems…off. Much sicker than earlier."

I lean over the crib, and anxiety twists in my gut as I see what Angela means. Holly doesn't look right. Her skin looks dry and rough, her lips cracked, and despite the warm room her little hands are cold and blotchy. "Oh Jellybean, this doesn't look too good…wake up sweetheart."

My heart pounds as I pick her up, not roughly but in a way that should rouse her, and yet it takes several moments of talking to her and moving her before she wakes. When she finally opens her eyes they're bleary and sunken, and I feel myself veering to the edge of panic. This baby is really sick.

"Holly sweetie, try and have something." Angela stands at my shoulder, offering the baby the bottle, but when Holly lets it fall from her mouth she shakes her head and says decisively, "You need to take her to the hospital."

I know she's right, I know Holly needs help, but for a moment all I want to say is NO. No. Don't make me go back there. Don't make me take this baby back to the place where I lost her mother.

It hits me then, in a visceral way that I've never felt before, how very much I love my baby daughter. I have taken care of her since the day I brought her home - I have rocked and soothed and kissed her, fed her, bathed and cuddled her – but grief has coloured every single action to the point that I have sometimes wondered guiltily if I feel anything real for her at all. But now, looking at her pale face and her dull blue eyes and feeling my heart lurch, it is clear to me that what I feel for Holly is profound.

Angela grabs the diaper bag and briskly loads it up with diapers, wipes and spare clothes before turning back to where I'm still standing, petrified. She pauses for a moment, looking at me, and then wraps her arms around both Holly and I and gives us an unexpected hug.

"It will be all right," she says gently. "Holly's dehydrated, that's all. They'll be able to get fluids into her and she'll be fine…it will be okay." She kisses the baby on the forehead and hooks the diaper bag over my shoulder. "Go on. I'll stay here with the other kids as long as it takes, don't worry about them."

I say good bye to the other kids and strap Holly into her car seat. She cries briefly, weak and feeble, before she lapses back into sleep and my concern deepens. As soon as I'm in the car I put the phone on speaker and call Carlisle, but I can only leave a message. Fighting back panic, I try Esme.

"I'm on my way to the hospital," I say without preamble when she picks up. "It's Holly…she's sick, she's been puking and shitting all day and she looks…I don't even know, not good…I tried to call Carlisle but he's not answering and…I don't know if…"

"Emmett, slow down. You're on the way to the ER with Holly?"

I try and take a deep breath. "Yes. The kids have had a stomach virus all day. So Holly hasn't been keeping down any of her milk, and now she's got a dry mouth and her skin looks a bit odd and she's kind of sleepy…"

"You definitely need to take her in," Esme says calmly. "That sounds like she's dehydrated, which isn't good for such a little baby. Don't worry about not being able to talk to Carlisle yet, you can ask the ER staff to let him know you're there. What about the other children? Are they all with Angela?"

"Yeah. They've all been sick too…god, today was a nightmare. They're pretty miserable, but not too bad now." I look in the rear view mirror, wishing I could see Holly in her car seat.

"All right then. I'll drive over to your house and help Angela, and hold down the fort if it gets late and she has to leave. You don't need to worry about any of that – just concentrate on Holly," Esme says.

"What if…she looks really sick …I should have taken her in earlier but I…the hospital…Mom…" My voice cracks.

I almost never call Esme Mom. She knows that I think of her as my mother in all the ways that really matter, but the fact that the word has slipped out here, says more about my state of terror than anything else could.

"Oh darling, it will be all right," Esme says. "I know how hard this is, but you are strong and capable Emmett, and you can do this. I promise. I love you, and I'll talk to you soon. Okay?"

I say goodbye, and thoughts of my sick baby swirl in my head with memories of my pregnant wife as the hospital looms ahead of me.

Please let her be okay. Please don't make me go through anything like that again.