November 13th, 2009
Dear Dad,
Yeah, I went to the doctor this morning. Dr. Bruell said I have a “nervous stomach.” He gave me a prescription for the world’s largest pills. They’re pink. I have no idea how I’m supposed to swallow them.
He asked me what I felt like. You know, like “where does it hurt and all that.” I said I just felt generally nauseous and sometimes I threw up. He asked me if I had a test at school today. I said no, but I knew what he meant. He meant that there was something making me feel sick—something that didn’t have anything to do with my body.
He’s a pretty smart guy. I thought he was going to start lecturing me about being a man, but instead he wrote out a prescription and said, “These pills will help. Take them whenever you feel queasy.” Except when he said it, it sounded like, “Take zem venevah you veel qveezy.” He’s got a really strong accent. He sounds like Arnold Schwarzenegger’s grandfather.
I’m about to take one right now. Hold on.
OK, I figured out why they’re so big. I’m supposed to chew them. Duh. They kind of taste like Pepto Bismal. Kind of minty and chalky. It’s funny, because I actually feel a little bit better already, which is good, because Mom says I have to start going to school everyday, unless I’m really barfing up a storm.
These pills are the only help I’ve gotten so far that’s made a lick of difference. No offense, Dad.
So I guess that means tomorrow I’ll see Will Mudgett. Any advice would be appreciated. Or anything you can do to take my mind off it. I’ll take what I can get.
Your son,
Trevor
Dear Dad,
Yeah, I went to the doctor this morning. Dr. Bruell said I have a “nervous stomach.” He gave me a prescription for the world’s largest pills. They’re pink. I have no idea how I’m supposed to swallow them.
He asked me what I felt like. You know, like “where does it hurt and all that.” I said I just felt generally nauseous and sometimes I threw up. He asked me if I had a test at school today. I said no, but I knew what he meant. He meant that there was something making me feel sick—something that didn’t have anything to do with my body.
He’s a pretty smart guy. I thought he was going to start lecturing me about being a man, but instead he wrote out a prescription and said, “These pills will help. Take them whenever you feel queasy.” Except when he said it, it sounded like, “Take zem venevah you veel qveezy.” He’s got a really strong accent. He sounds like Arnold Schwarzenegger’s grandfather.
I’m about to take one right now. Hold on.
OK, I figured out why they’re so big. I’m supposed to chew them. Duh. They kind of taste like Pepto Bismal. Kind of minty and chalky. It’s funny, because I actually feel a little bit better already, which is good, because Mom says I have to start going to school everyday, unless I’m really barfing up a storm.
These pills are the only help I’ve gotten so far that’s made a lick of difference. No offense, Dad.
So I guess that means tomorrow I’ll see Will Mudgett. Any advice would be appreciated. Or anything you can do to take my mind off it. I’ll take what I can get.
Your son,
Trevor
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| Tags: accent, adolescence, afterlife, fatherhood, junior high school, middle school, nervous stomach |
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