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The other day, I had a moment when everything just fell apart for me. I had an extremely painful sinus infection (see separate account) and, on top of that, I slammed my shin hard against the open oven door. The pain was so intense and everything had piled up so much that I cried out loud and felt utterly desperate. On top of that, there was a very emotional situation with my mother. At that moment, I was completely overwhelmed inside.

My 3.5-year-old son was right in the middle of this scene. Normally, he’s very preoccupied with his own emotions—especially anger and frustration—and pays little attention to others. This time was different: He looked at me, started crying loudly himself, ran to me, tried to blow on my injury, and wanted everything to be okay again. He was clearly worried about me. Even though I was still crying, I took him in my arms and held him close. In the hours that followed, he was noticeably “softer,” much more empathetic and attentive than usual. I could really feel how much my despair had affected him deep down.

In this situation, I see a clear DHS in him: He perceives Mom’s condition as a sudden, overwhelming threat. On the one hand, it’s a territorial fear for his “nest” (me and the connection to me as a safe haven); on the other hand, it’s something that’s “too much” for him internally—a chunk he can’t digest. To me, this fits with a bronchial program and, in parallel, a stomach program that has reacted to the “indigestible chunk.”

The following night, he had several coughing fits. This is how I interpret it: He was experiencing territorial anxiety around me, but it resolved relatively quickly thanks to my immediate embrace and closeness. During the repair phase—and especially during the healing crisis of these bronchial programs—coughing and coughing fits manifest as expressions of healing. I therefore see his coughing that night as a sign that his airway conflict regarding “Mom is crying and being loud—my connection to Mom is in danger” was already resolving, and that through the coughing, he went through the healing phase and epikrisis of his bronchial SBS.

The next morning, I felt even worse; the pain was intense, and I was weak. My son spent the whole day out with his dad. He asked about me a lot, wanting to know how I was doing. So he was still in a phase of worry, brooding, and tension. I stayed home, and as the day went on, I gradually started to feel better. When the two of them came home again that evening, I was much more stable. It was clear to him: Mom is back, she’s no longer “in acute danger.” I see this moment as his actual resolution of the “hard-to-swallow” issue—as the point at which the “hard-to-swallow” burden (the worry, the feeling of being overwhelmed by my condition) fell away internally.

The following night, around 2:00 a.m., my son began vomiting suddenly. He vomited repeatedly, at first expelling stomach contents, then later only mucus and gastric juices, and finally just dry retching, even though his stomach had long since been empty. This went on for many hours, lasting into the morning until around 8:00 a.m., without him complaining of any pain. There was also no diarrhea. Already the evening before, his head had been slightly warm, which I interpret as a vagotonic sign in the context of the beginning healing phase. The day after the vomiting, he remained distinctly vagotonic and spent the entire day at home.

I attribute this vomiting most likely to the entodermal stomach program. The main part of the stomach (greater curvature) and the duodenum react to “indigestible chunks.” During the conflict-active phase, tissue is built up there so that this chunk can be better “digested.” After the resolution—for my son, presumably the moment in the evening when he perceived me as significantly improved and “safe”—the body enters the repair phase. The epikrisis of this program typically manifests as vomiting, even on an empty stomach. That is exactly what happened to him: In the night following the resolution, his body literally “pushed the emotional chunk back up and out.”

The fact that he wasn’t experiencing severe pain suggests to me that this was more likely an endodermal stomach issue than an ectodermal small-curvature issue involving stomach colic.

From a biological perspective, his small body thus reacted logically on two levels to what was simply too much for him: the fear for me or his connection to me (he is always very attached to me) and the indigestibility of the situation or his worry.