Alarm signals

Sometimes when I go in to say good-night to Christopher, I tell myself I really must break the habit of pretending to stroke his hair when I am really surreptitiously checking that he doesn't have a temperature.
This afternoon he was feeling low, because his French test didn't go well, so I went in and gave him a hug - and immediately felt the panic rising, because I thought he seemed much too warm. He told me he was fine, so I told myself that with my cold hands I can't tell anyway. But half an hour later, he came in and said he just wanted to lie down, because he wasn't feeling very well. At this point, his temperature is just slightly above normal, and he says the headaches come and go, but yes, they are meningitis headaches, not ordinary ones.
This is the part I really hate: he is not sick yet, but it is highly unlikely that this will just go away. It might, but it probably won't.
So I sit here staring at my computer screen, trying to convince myself that I have to get my work done while I can, but it is so hard to concentrate, because I am really just waiting ...
And the poor guy is lying there on the couch looking so forlorn - he is just waiting too. Waiting for the pain ...