A father’s heart is pulled two ways when he has to give medicine: do what is best or do what is nice. I’ve felt it with my son and now with my dog.
The Spoon and the Smell of Cough Mixture
Jesse is 32 this year. But I still remember him as a baby with a cold and the cough mixture we had to give him.
Kathleen held him. I held the spoon.
He did not want it. He cried and kicked, and we poured the medicine down his throat anyway.
We cried inside. Neither of us said it out loud. We didn’t have to.
Some of it spilled on my shirt. I went to work that day smelling like cough mixture, and every time I caught the scent, I was back in our living room, seeing his face.
As he grew, the medicine became easier. There was no single day it changed. One day I just noticed that he took it without a fight. Now he takes his own pills without a thought. He does not remember the kicking.
But I do. I remember the spoon, the smell, and his face. And I remember that when we were doing it, I didn’t know it would turn out this way. I only knew it was what he needed.
A Father’s Heart at the Breakfast Bowl
Ben is my dog. His legs hurt, his doctor gave him a painkiller and an anti-inflammatory.
I give him the medicine at breakfast. I crush it into powder and spread it over his food, boiled chicken with kibbles.
With Jesse, there was a spoon and two pairs of hands. With Ben, there is nothing to hold down. But he is not fooled. He takes a few bites, then he notices. He stops. Some mornings he walks away from the bowl altogether.
I cannot reason with him. I cannot tell him it is for his legs. I cannot tell him the taste is worth it.
Ben Comes Back at Dinner
Dinner is different. There is no medicine in his dinner, and he eats it without a second thought. Whatever he thinks of me at breakfast, by evening he has let it go.
When he walks away from his breakfast, I add a boiled egg. Sometimes it works. Sometimes it does not.
If he walks away from that too, I pray harder. And on the mornings he eats it all, I say thank you, because the medicine will help him heal faster.
I cannot explain to Ben why the taste is worth it. Maybe God cannot always explain it to me either. But Ben comes back at dinner, and I’m learning to do the same.
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