I've got a puker in my class. He wasn't a puker at the beginning of the year. But now he is.
He doesn't often make it to the bathroom. The floor, down the side of the trash can, his lunch tray, or in his hands then into the trash can I shoved in his face have been the spots of choice lately. I think the feeling surprises him every time. He should be able to recognize those belly signs by now and get himself to an appropriate vessel ~ preferably one I don't have to witness. The day I saw him spew his intestines into his lunch tray was traumatizing. It.just.didn't.stop.
At first they were sending him home when this happened. Now? They clean him up and send him back to class. No fever, so Mom says he can stay. Uh, great, thanks. Frankly, I'm a little hesitant to stand too close to him. A girl peed on my sandals once ~ I don't know how I will react if he pukes on my feet. It's a little sad, I know.
He's puked three out of the four days this week. Lately, I count it a good day if I do not have to witness or hear about him puking. Today was not a good day. There was puking. I feel sorry for the teacher who witnessed it, but relieved it wasn't me.