Supertasters

Ben and Luke are incapable of being administered any sort of cherry-flavored cough syrup - or orange or blue or purple or green. They have been known to throw up before tasting medicine, even as the spoon is en route. Ben once threw up when I was across the room opening a bottle. Luke once threw up when I was at the sink and he at the refrigerator. I once threw up because there was so much throw up. And late one evening, when my sister tried to aid me in this process, she defeatedly exclaimed, "Oh, my God!"

Though I know it is not my family's fault - that they cannot help it - that they are helpless to overcome this tendency, I feel shame at their continued resistance. It is the only time my sons are not too proud to whine; too proud to scream; too proud to cover their mouths; too proud to run; too proud to struggle with a woman; too proud to hide; too proud to beg for a powdered tablet; too proud to lie that they are all better.

And my husband has done no more than donating DNA to these beings - because he's a supertaster too, and could only sit gripping the arms of his chair sympathetically. Whenever he finds it needful to medicate himself, he gasps, chokes, coughs, clutches the sides of the sink, bows his head........and then drinks the cup.

My sympathy is low in that not one of us in this entropic universe enjoys the aspects of cough syrup, yet we ingest it without making others responsible. I have felt quite sorry for myself. Though I was granted one respite in the midst of all those winters, when Allie's little turn came, and she obediently opened her trusting mouth, and shivered only slightly. If it is possible to earn mercy, then I earned that one - and I don't even mind saying it.