In bed with my son again as he thrashes and screams. He lunges at me, grabbing what would be fists of hair if I still had that much on my head. He flails for hours, the acetaminophen and THCA cannabis oils doing nothing to assuage his pain. Huddled in the corner of his bed, I guard my eyes, teeth, groin, and breasts from being inadvertently kicked or punched, while protecting Calvin from hitting his head or falling out of bed.

His screams are haunting, as if he is having his fingernails or teeth yanked out one by one—they are strident, deafening, tormented, deranged. He suffers these hours-long bouts of misery every couple of months and I still don't know their source or nature, wonder if they're migraines, kidney stones, gas cramps, impaction, muscle spasms, benzo withdrawals, night terrors.

And though he isn't even in the first percentile—barely four foot five inches and just under sixty pounds, he's half the size of an average boy his age—he is getting bigger and stronger yet.

Exasperated, I lift my wailing boy out of bed and lay him on the changing table. There, I undo his diaper and squirt 0.25 mls—5 milligrams—Palmetto Harmony CBD oil from a syringe into his rectum. Within seconds he calms. Within minutes he is asleep. He has been thrashing and shrieking for hours. It's 11:30 p.m.

When I wake up my arm is asleep. Stealthily, so as not to rouse my sleeping imp, I crawl out of his bed, raise and lock its safety panel, secure its netting, then return to my bed, hoping he'll be okay, hoping this never happens again.

Still frame, from the film Melancholia

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