Anxious caregiver stays up all night applying compresses to feverish child’s face, chest, limbs.
Child tosses and turns, moaning and breathing laboriously.
Everyone knows that the child is on her deathbed, everyone wishes they could do something – but to no avail. They stand vigil outside the child’s door, waiting for news. The doctor’s worried face declares that the danger is real.
Then, as daylight breaks, the child’s fever subsides. She falls into a “deep, unlabored sleep.”
The doctor declares the worst to be over, orders the anxious caregiver to sleep.
All breathe a sigh of relief. The child will live.
What story am I telling?
I’m not really sure. I feel certain I’ve read this story or a variation on it at least a half dozen times if not more – but I can’t remember where.
Do you know?
All I know is that I felt a little like I was in this story (and yes, I am being melodramatic) last night.
Tirzah Mae went to sleep at nine, woke up screaming at 10:30, midnight, one o’clock, two o’clock, three o’clock, four o’clock, and five o’clock. I had a nightmare that I was (thankfully) able to wake myself up from at 11:15.
It’s been four weeks now that Tirzah Mae’s not been sleeping well, been waking up screaming, been inconsolably fussy during the day. My own sleep has (understandably) suffered.
We took her to the doctor Friday, got some medication. And this weekend has been the worst that it’s been so far.
But this morning, as I was reaching my very wits end, I breastfed Tirzah Mae and she fell into a “deep, unlabored sleep”. She slept for four hours (longer than she’s slept at a stretch since returning from Lincoln on Easter Sunday).
And her mother relaxed into sleep as well. The worst is over. The child will live (and so will her mother.)
One variation of that story is in Sense and Sensibility when Marianne is ill, but she wasn’t a child. As you say, I think it’s a scene in a lot of stories.
I’m glad that scene seems to have passed now for you all and I hope you have peaceful slumber and pleasant dreams.