I would like if my son would get well, the poor thing. He’s been sick for three weeks now!
Fever: once in awhile, but not super-high, and not high enough to keep him down for long (with the exception of yesterday, when he put himself to bed in the middle of the day.)
Throwing up: one time. Two weeks ago?
Coughing: Constantly, but until this morning, sounded like a “getting better” cough, not an “wheezing, unable to catch breath” cough. Until today.
Runny nose: He’s five. He always has a runny nose.
My nerves: Frayed. Yes, we have a call in to the pediatrician, who will say, “C’mon out!” and then we’ll go to get exposed to more crud. They’ll also say, “Yes, this one is really hanging on. Everyone has it!” Secondary infection, at this point? I have no idea. All I know is that everyone we know has gotten sick lately, and they’ve stayed sick for two, three, even six weeks. It’s gone into pneumonia for some of them — and in one case, the pneumonia didn’t respond to two courses of antibiotics.
I’m blaming it on the rain and spring, of course (which brings mold, mildew, allergens and ever-lovin’ blooming things) in addition to germs and viruses.
Little Mini-Nekkid Neighbor was over yesterday. Wacky Boy was inside resting, so we played outside with Wacky Girl. Man, does that little girl have questions. She asked them all while I weeded the flowerbed.
“Did you know we had ice cream at my school? FOR 100TH DAY! ONE HUNDRED DAYS OF SCHOOL! Did you know that?”
“Why is he sick?”
“How did he get sick?”
“When did he get sick?”
“Is he asleep now?”
“Is he feeling better now?”
“I know what makes you sick. Bugs! Did you know that?”
“What do you think the bugs look like?”
“How can you make the bugs go away?”
me, still weeding: “If I had the answer to that one, I’d have six million dollars.”
Edited at 7:45 p.m. on whatever day this is — Wednesday??? — to say: He has a sinus infection. Thus the runny nose and cough, the vomiting and the fever. His temperature got up to 105.4 this morning. This was after my rowdy-ass little son, the boy who hasn’t napped since he was eighteen months old, had put himself to bed for a nap.
That was at 9:30 a.m.
Then the fever. He was limp, but not having a seizure. Gave him tylenol and a cool (not cold) bath. Water and more water to drink. Temp came down. Took him to the doc, who diagnosed him and gave him pink gooey liquid amoxicillin. After much duress, I got three-quarters of a dose down. The rest he poured down the sink in a fit of rage. (Fever had worn off — he had energy. Fever came back — he was filled with rage.)
(Frickin’ infections, how I hate you.)
Hockey God stopped on the way home from work to pick up chewable amoxicillin. He sweet-talked our stubborn little son into drinking the rest of a dose of tylenol. The fever was gaining on him. Fits, more fits, tylenol down.
Then we both threatened him until he nibbled half of one capsule of the antibiotic (to make up for the rest of the dose, down the sink).
“You will end up in the hospital. With needles! An IV in your arm for the antibiotics! You can get brain damage from these high fevers! You have to get better!”
Fits. He likes the phrase “brain damage,” my son, it intrigues him. And hospitals? Being cared for by people who are not his parents? Sounds better than gooey cherry tylenol and bubblegummy amoxicillin.
Finally, he gave in and ate the capsule. (Chewable, cherry.)
Did I mention the conversation my son had with his grandmother, when she stopped by this afternoon to check on him?
Wacky Boy: She is mean!
His loving grandmother: Why, honey?
Wacky Boy: She took my temperature! I wish she was dead!
Grandma: (smiles at me.) (payback… so sweet for grandparents.) He only says that because he loves and trusts you!
me: I so do not believe that, Mom.