THE POSTSCRIPT, Carrie Classon

This past week, my husband, Peter, has not been feeling well. We are in Mexico, and he is getting a dental implant. Like everything he does, Peter researched everything about this implant and was impressed by the cutting-edge technology used by the dentist just down the street—or, more accurately, the implant specialist the dentist brought in.

The surgery went well, but the antibiotics made Peter very sick. This was also well researched by Peter, and a known side effect, so it was not a total surprise. But he ended up feeling faint and very nauseous and acting a little silly.

“Are you OK?” I asked, perhaps more times than necessary. The last time Peter had oral surgery, he passed out in the bathroom and cut his head open. He had to be hauled to the emergency room in an ambulance. So I don’t think I was unjustified in being a little concerned.

“I’m fine,” Peter said, looking not at all fine. “I’m just occasionally nostalgic.”

“What?”

“Nauseous. That’s what I meant,” he clarified.

He was loopy, no question about it. He had retrieved a bowl from the kitchen and taken it to bed. It was large and green, and we used it to rinse fruit and vegetables. He planned to vomit in it, if the need arose. At the moment, this seemed very possible.

“Are you OK?” I asked again.

Then Peter demonstrated that he was not, in fact, OK, by apparently vomiting into the bowl.

“Oh dear,” I said.

Then Peter put the bowl on his head.

“Oh, no!” I said.

“It’s empty,” he explained, from under the bowl.

“Why is it on your head?”

“It will be easy to find when I need it.”

I could not argue with this logic, so Peter lay in bed for several long minutes, unsure if he was going to throw up, a green bowl on his head. We all do what we need to do to get by, when we’re feeling sick, that’s what I figured.

I was recently visiting my mom when my sister was there, and the subject of the aluminum bowl came up. My mother still owns it. “The throw-up bowl, you mean,” my sister said.

“It was also the popcorn bowl,” I told her. This was true. The trusty aluminum bowl had done double duty, serving popcorn on Sunday nights, the only time my family watched television together. Then, in a pinch, it served as the throw-up bowl when a bout of stomach flu hit.

“Why didn’t we use a bucket?” my sister demanded—about 50 years too late.

“I don’t think I usually had a lot of time!” my mother said, in her defense.

I don’t blame my mother. We all do what we need to do when someone is feeling sick. I eventually took the bowl off Peter’s head and helped him get into a more comfortable position. He did end up throwing up, and the green bowl proved its worth. Peter felt rotten for the next couple of days, but his implant healed up nicely. He disregarded the instructions of his doctor on day three and went hiking.

“Sit down if you feel faint!” I told him, repeatedly.

“I will,” he insisted. Then he left and forgot his phone.

But Peter is now feeling fine. The green bowl (after a good round of bleach) has returned to its former employment, rinsing vegetables and life has returned to normal.

“Are you OK?” I asked again this morning.

“Of course I am!” Peter said, again.

I can never be too sure.

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