|Mother With Sick Child by Vasily Perov 1878|
I have opted for the ten-statement format. Here we go.
1. I remember light like a knife coming through a window.
2. I remember the pain reverberating behind my closed eyes and screaming over and over for my poor mother, who had left me sleeping on the sofa of the small house we lived in, on the grounds of the nursing home where she worked.
3. I remember tonsils like lumps of hot coal in my throat.
4. I remember a piercing whistle in my ears.
5. I remember the cold, foreign feel of the glass thermometer under my tongue.
6. I remember chewing on tiny orange-flavored baby aspirin, and wanting more.
7. I remember feverish spells in tangled sheets, when time seemed to stop.
8. I remember hearing everyone leave for the day as I lay in bed, and the glorious, dread sound of an empty house.
9. I remember my mother coming home in her nurse’s uniform, making me bend over and marking my little ass with a red mercurochrome “X” while saying: “X marks the spot where Jean got shot.” (Followed, of course, by the jab.)
10. I remember the restorative feeling of a bowl of Campbell’s chicken noodle soup on the first day of recovery.
Now it is your turn. I would love to see your ten statements or 99-word "flash memoir" on childhood illness.