Pains and saints.

June 15, Antioch, California.

It wasn't a bad cold, it was an acutely severe case of either strep throat or tonsil inflammation, we're not quite sure; what is sure is that I've never seen Fridman like this, never seen him sick like this, he's rarely sick at all as it is, never seen him not work, never seen him double over and cry in pain. He didn't work yesterday, except for helping with the parking, although he did try to get up for the show.
Again Norma saved me. She'd offered to help- her husband is a cardiologist, they know their way around the medical world, - if we ever needed to find a doctor in the area; as Fridman grew worse by the hour yesterday I decided to call her. It is the big throwback of life on the road, not knowing where to go when one of us is ill, especially the children; it is hard enough to find a good physician anywhere, much more at the drop of a hat not knowing anybody or anything in town. We went up to Napa, and hour drive from Antioch, and ended up having her husband himself see Fridman.
A heavy does of penicilin and narcotic pain killers later he's at long last feeling a little better. So he went back to work; not to the doors, he's too contagious, not doing the upside down walk, for that would most probably leave me with two orphan boys to raise, but the clown acts.
And that's the beauty of life on the road with the circus, the friends you make, and sometimes when you need them most.

An end note: I thought my father, who died of cancer in November 2002, was difficult when he was sick, which was often in the last years of his life; nothing like Fridman, who acted as if I bore the responsibility of the pain he was in. I though my Mom was a saint for taking care of my father all these years; I didn't know how much it took to be a saint (as if on cue Nicolas was fussy all day and Dylan the toddler from hell; it's a long, hard way to sainthood.)