Not every superhero in our house gets our ear when he thinks he’s dying

Superhero 1, who can force himself through a 10-mile, uphill run with cramps and pain and blood dripping down the knees, makes the dying claim exactly every time in his life he’s ever thrown up. (The Peppercorn Incident of 2016 will also go down in history as the day a member of the spice cabinet killed not the 10-year-old mouth where it lodged but the ears of every member of the household who had to listen to banshee shrieking for the following five hours.)

But when Superman, who has endured 10 surgeries and more hospitalizations and regular medical procedures than all the members of our house combined, says he’s in physical pain, we know he’s not messing around.

On Thursday afternoon, that tough-as-nails boy doubled over in pain to the point of being unable to walk, and by dinnertime, he told us he thought he needed to go to the hospital.

When he emptied the contents of his stomach all over the E.R. parking lot, my shoes and his brand new mask in what can only be described as a fireworks display of exploding vomit, I knew it was more than a few aches and pains. (Superman: 1, puke-catching mask: 0.)

We spent Thursday night in our local emergency room, where doctors diagnosed an obstruction that needed pediatric specialty care. After an ambulance ride to the same children’s hospital where both Superman and Superhero 4 have had surgeries over the last four years, some of our favorite specialists let us know that, if they couldn’t resolve the issue in 24 to 48 hours, they’d have to perform surgery.