I was doing fine. I had cleaned and done dishes and read from a physical book. I was winding down. I went to bed before midnight.
At 12:15, my 6'3", 17 year old son opens the bedroom door. "I'm bleeding."
I made Mudd get up and get him to the bathroom while I hunted for my caftan. I heard Mudd say "From your crotch?" and blinked. Remember, son. I got my caftan on and joined them.
Jonner was sitting on the toilet holding a wad of toilet paper against a boil just under the waistband of his shorts. I go for bandages and ointment. I come back and he has no color in his face. He looks waxy and yellow, and his lips are the same color as his skin.
Mudd, looking quite pale himself, helps Jonner to his bed. I apply bandages and reassurance. I tell him he has to wash out his skivvies, but not to do it until he can sit up and not feel dizzy.
Color was coming back into his face when I went to bed. Mudd was doing the Lamaze breathing thing he does when he's trying not to pass out himself. I cuddled him, checked on Jonner and now I can't sleep.
Apparently, "Mom, I'm bleeding" is better than amphetamines at waking me up. Only worse way to wake up is a sudden ejection of bodily fluids all over you.