I think, providing whichever deity is responsible for toddler sickness doesn't read this and smite me for my hubris (probably a Greek one, those gods were bastards), that we are getting better over here. It's been a scary, scary week for me. It started with a little cough last week and progressed into violent hacking, 103+ fevers, and all sorts of digestive pyrotechnics. I learned a few things:
1. True love is hugging and cuddling your kid even though she's got salsa-and-ice-cream puke in her hair.
2. Front-load washers really suck at getting bodily fluids out of bed linens. Especially white duvet covers.
3. I really need to find a pediatrician who will take me seriously.
My vivacious and chatty little girl turned, over the course of two days, into a sunken-eyed, hollow-cheeked child who was too weak to even sit up and play puzzles. I pestered the doctor about the fact that Piper was exhibiting signs of extreme dehydration, but got the same "it's a virus, it'll pass" response I get to everything. Even when Piper lost over a pound in two days, I was brushed off. I was freaked, because for a kid who only weighed 29 lbs to begin with, that's a pretty big loss. She wasn't eating, she wasn't drinking. I had to sit with her in bathtubs full of cool water and pump her full of ibuprofen to keep the fever at a reasonable level. All she could do was lay on the couch glassy-eyed and watch cartoons or listen to stories. I was freaking the hell out. I followed all the instructions I was given to the letter, trying to coax her into drinking Pedialyte or eating crackers, bananas and rice. I kept weighing her and so far she's lost about 3 lbs, 10% of her body weight. I ran her into the pediatrician's office both last Friday and again on Monday, making the 40-minutes-each-way drive only to be told that it was no big deal, not to give her too much medicine (I got yelled at Monday for giving the antibiotic the doctor had prescribed during the Friday visit) and not to let her have any juice. I ground my teeth and tried not to panic as my baby got sicker and sicker.
Finally, on Wednesday, I couldn't take it any more and when, on the way back from a grocery run, she asked to have "chicken and fries" for lunch, we hit a drive-through (like I needed an excuse to get Chick-Fil-A). She ate more at that meal than she had in the past five days put together, and I started to feel a little less anxious.
She was well enough yesterday for a quick trip to the big children's library (I was looking for a book they had weeded out, so I could buy it, but no luck) and a treat from the French bakery. I am letting her watch just a little more TV right now, and then I'm shutting the damned thing off. She has watched more TV in the past week than in the past six months, and I suspect there's going to be some withdrawal. I did get to introduce her to a couple new things (I love Kipper, but four hours in a row is enough), like:
- The Last Unicorn, a beloved movie from my childhood. She loved it and now asks to watch "the beaunicorn one" every other day.
- Shaun the Sheep, which was new to me too. I adore Nick Park (creator of Wallace & Gromit) and Aardman Studios*, so I thought we'd give it a shot. It totally cracks me up, and I love that the sheep are always using their brains and cunning to solve problems.
- Hocus Pocus, which is one of my all-time favorite Halloween movies. It's silly and ridiculous and features Bette Midler camping it up like only Bette can. The storyline is still a little bit over my 3-year-old's head, but she enjoys screechy witches on brooms as much as anyone.
I realized this week that once again, my Fall is whizzing away. How is it almost Halloween? We haven't done a single fun Fall thing yet. No hikes, no apple-picking, no cider doughnuts. No pies, no vats of homemade applesauce. I made pumpkin bread, apple-pumpkin muffins, and sweet-potato chilli, but that's been it. We have scheduled a visit to the pumpkin patch Sunday morning. I am trying to work on knitting, but I just can't settle down and get to it. I feel like the summer dragged on forever, and now my favorite months will be over before I can blink. I think it's because October is so warm here (still 80+ most days), I just don't realize what's going on until it's almost over. The leaves have barely started falling from the trees. Yesterday Piper was feeling well enough to play outside for a while, and I attempted to rake up a leaf pile for her and her little neighborhood friend to jump in. The result was pretty pathetic, even though I raked up everything I could find from our front and decent-sized back yards, and a little from the neighbor's yard as well.
*When my siblings and I were kids, my dad used to watch the Angry Kid cartoons with us and he laughed just as hard as we did. Now that I'm older, I understand why he laughed so hard. I totally love the geniuses at Aardman, because the same is true of Shaun the Sheep. Piper and I laugh in the same spots, sometimes for completely different reasons. The original Creature Comforts was much funnier than Creature Comforts America, though.
Showing posts with label illness. Show all posts
Showing posts with label illness. Show all posts
Saturday, October 23, 2010
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
Whew!
Has it really been that long since I've posted? Argh.
I feel like so far this fall was supposed to be a frantic sprint that would soon wind down, but has instead turned into a marathon. Having Piper in preschool 11 hours per week has turned out to suck up a lot of time, not free up a few mornings. Between the 25-minutes-each-way drive and volunteer duties (which are NOT going well, by the way), I am feeling more time-crunched than ever. My husband is working crazy hours, which leaves almost no time for family stuff. I love, LOVE October, but so far we haven't done any fun fall things - no walks collecting leaves, no pumpkin patch, no apple-picking. I feel like the summer dragged on forever and fall is just sliding through my fingers. Our neighborhood has been particularly unpleasant lately, which is making me anxious and jittery. Piper has been really sick for over a week now, with hardcore stomach troubles and a recurrent raging fever (103+) that my irritating pediatrician assures me is "no cause for alarm." I've also been warned that this thing is highly contagious and that we are sure to get it before long. Which is grrreat, because we both totally have the time to spend a week laying around eating crackers.
Tuesday, May 04, 2010
Pioneer Women
Piper spiked an inexplicable fever on Saturday. Nothing else, no complaints about hurting ears or throat, just a restless night followed by a temp that started at 100.6 and climbed to 102.5 by lunchtime. I let her drink about 5 of the tiny, watered-down apple juice boxes she loves so much, in quick succession. We bought a box of popsicles and let her go to town. I pressed water on her, and, once the fever climbed, gave her medicine and packed her off for a nap.
We made calls, of course, to the pediatrician's office that wasn't open at 12:30 on Saturday afternoon. To the Urgent Care centers in our area, asking for hours and procedures for getting seen. To the insurance company, trying to get authorization to take her to an Urgent Care center or, failing that, the ER. We were advised that we could do that, but since our ped "doesn't do" the sort of referrals we needed, we'd be paying out of pocket. That is, if any place would see us without the referral in the first place. The very nice nurse on the help-line at the pediatrician's office told us that we were doing all the right things and that, unless the fever didn't respond to the medicine or got to 104, it probably wouldn't help to take her in anyway.
As I sat there pouring out cups of water and apple juice, unwrapping popsicles, and making our temporal-artery thermometer work overtime, I stewed in my feelings of fear and rage and helplessness. Once we'd determined that there was nothing to do but wait it out, and Piper was snoozing away in her room, I snuck in to feel her forehead again. This symbolic gesture, not capable of easing her illness or of providing any accurate information about it, served only to comfort myself. I looked at her sweet little face, curls spilling over her forehead and her cheeks flushed. I sat down on the floor beside her bed and watched her for a moment, taking in the steady rise and fall of her breathing.
I thought of all the other mothers who have sat beside the bed of a sick child. Women who held small hands and willed that tiny form to keep breathing, keep breathing, please just be okay. Thirty minutes before I had been cursing the few options available to get my child to a doctor, raging at this ridiculous healthcare system that would make us choose between health and poverty, drowning in bitter resentment of all the circumstances in my life that had brought me to a point where I could not just truck off to the ER with my insurance card. Now I thought all we have to do is get to Monday. The pediatrician's phones would turn on at 8:00 Monday morning; all we had to do was keep the fever at bay until then. Then there would be an office visit, antibiotics, an explanation. This will end, and she will be okay.
I thought of so many other women before me, my ancestors. Women who journeyed with their families from the interior of Germany, to the Volga plains of Russia, and then on across an ocean to America. Women who came from England and Ireland and Wales, who left everything they knew and bore children in a strange and wild country. Women who watched those children sicken and die, who lost them to accidents or coal mines or farm equipment or the filth of cities, and could not do a damned thing about it. These women held the hands of their children in tenement apartments, in sod houses, on crowded passenger ships. They prayed and sobbed under cover of temporary shelters, the canvas of wagon-hoods or in farm houses surrounded by rolling acres of wheat. They prayed and sobbed and hoped, because that was all they could do.
As much as I joke about moving into a mud hut and leaving civilization behind, as much chatter as there always is about "the good old days" and going "back to basics," I don't envy those women. I wouldn't want to live in a time where an ear infection or a broken arm could kill my child. I live here, now, in this turbulent and fearful world, where there is so much to be angry about and so much to inspire despair. But it's also a time where I can soothe a fever with popsicles and apple juice, where a $4.99 bottle of bubblegum-flavored ibuprofen can knock out symptoms, and where the promise of a waiting room and white coats means that everything will be okay, and for that I am grateful.
We made calls, of course, to the pediatrician's office that wasn't open at 12:30 on Saturday afternoon. To the Urgent Care centers in our area, asking for hours and procedures for getting seen. To the insurance company, trying to get authorization to take her to an Urgent Care center or, failing that, the ER. We were advised that we could do that, but since our ped "doesn't do" the sort of referrals we needed, we'd be paying out of pocket. That is, if any place would see us without the referral in the first place. The very nice nurse on the help-line at the pediatrician's office told us that we were doing all the right things and that, unless the fever didn't respond to the medicine or got to 104, it probably wouldn't help to take her in anyway.
As I sat there pouring out cups of water and apple juice, unwrapping popsicles, and making our temporal-artery thermometer work overtime, I stewed in my feelings of fear and rage and helplessness. Once we'd determined that there was nothing to do but wait it out, and Piper was snoozing away in her room, I snuck in to feel her forehead again. This symbolic gesture, not capable of easing her illness or of providing any accurate information about it, served only to comfort myself. I looked at her sweet little face, curls spilling over her forehead and her cheeks flushed. I sat down on the floor beside her bed and watched her for a moment, taking in the steady rise and fall of her breathing.
I thought of all the other mothers who have sat beside the bed of a sick child. Women who held small hands and willed that tiny form to keep breathing, keep breathing, please just be okay. Thirty minutes before I had been cursing the few options available to get my child to a doctor, raging at this ridiculous healthcare system that would make us choose between health and poverty, drowning in bitter resentment of all the circumstances in my life that had brought me to a point where I could not just truck off to the ER with my insurance card. Now I thought all we have to do is get to Monday. The pediatrician's phones would turn on at 8:00 Monday morning; all we had to do was keep the fever at bay until then. Then there would be an office visit, antibiotics, an explanation. This will end, and she will be okay.
I thought of so many other women before me, my ancestors. Women who journeyed with their families from the interior of Germany, to the Volga plains of Russia, and then on across an ocean to America. Women who came from England and Ireland and Wales, who left everything they knew and bore children in a strange and wild country. Women who watched those children sicken and die, who lost them to accidents or coal mines or farm equipment or the filth of cities, and could not do a damned thing about it. These women held the hands of their children in tenement apartments, in sod houses, on crowded passenger ships. They prayed and sobbed under cover of temporary shelters, the canvas of wagon-hoods or in farm houses surrounded by rolling acres of wheat. They prayed and sobbed and hoped, because that was all they could do.
As much as I joke about moving into a mud hut and leaving civilization behind, as much chatter as there always is about "the good old days" and going "back to basics," I don't envy those women. I wouldn't want to live in a time where an ear infection or a broken arm could kill my child. I live here, now, in this turbulent and fearful world, where there is so much to be angry about and so much to inspire despair. But it's also a time where I can soothe a fever with popsicles and apple juice, where a $4.99 bottle of bubblegum-flavored ibuprofen can knock out symptoms, and where the promise of a waiting room and white coats means that everything will be okay, and for that I am grateful.
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
Owning Things Is Expensive, and My Sister Loves KG
I know my usual wordiness has been somewhat absent from these parts lately (most of you are probably saying "thank goodness, because you talk type too much and we'd rather look at pictures anyway"). First I was busy cleaning and straightening and hiding the whips and chains getting ready for my mom + sister + sister's boyfriend to come visit.
Then, the day before their arrival, I learned a hard lesson about not eating dairy products found at the back of the fridge if you can't remember when you bought them. Turns out sour cream can go bad after all, and "I don't see any furry green spots so I think it'll be fine" is not a good way to judge freshness. However, two days of feeling sick to my stomach 24 hours a day, being unable to consume anything other than ginger ale and saltines with the salt scraped off did cure me of any lingering thoughts I might have about getting pregnant again any time soon. Not that we were planning on it, but sometimes it seems like I'm surrounded by babies and my mind wanders...ahem. Considering I only lost one measly pound for all my suffering, it felt pretty unfair.
Then my family was here and although I had a good time with them (except for the part where my sister and I almost got into a screaming match about Kate Gosselin), it was an exhausting 2.5 days of driving them around and cooking huge meals (while still feeling pretty queasy) and making sure everybody had enough blankets and I had my first knitting class in there too and Ryan had to work every day so it was all on me. One night while they were here, we also had to get up at 2:00 am and bail a friend out of jail. That was entertaining, let me tell you.
Oh, and then we decided to take my computer in to have it looked at, and $245 plus one argument with the tech people that had to go up the ladder all the way to their district managers, my computer works only marginally better than it did before (thanks to the anti-virus software eating up all my memory) but I am assured that it is virus-free (and, because of said argument, the work is guaranteed, at least for a little while). $367 dollars later, the front driver's-side wheel on our second car is no longer in danger of detaching itself and wheeling out into the stratosphere while the car is moving.
It's been an expensive week, and it's only Wednesday.
P.S. Happy St. Patrick's Day.
Then, the day before their arrival, I learned a hard lesson about not eating dairy products found at the back of the fridge if you can't remember when you bought them. Turns out sour cream can go bad after all, and "I don't see any furry green spots so I think it'll be fine" is not a good way to judge freshness. However, two days of feeling sick to my stomach 24 hours a day, being unable to consume anything other than ginger ale and saltines with the salt scraped off did cure me of any lingering thoughts I might have about getting pregnant again any time soon. Not that we were planning on it, but sometimes it seems like I'm surrounded by babies and my mind wanders...ahem. Considering I only lost one measly pound for all my suffering, it felt pretty unfair.
Then my family was here and although I had a good time with them (except for the part where my sister and I almost got into a screaming match about Kate Gosselin), it was an exhausting 2.5 days of driving them around and cooking huge meals (while still feeling pretty queasy) and making sure everybody had enough blankets and I had my first knitting class in there too and Ryan had to work every day so it was all on me. One night while they were here, we also had to get up at 2:00 am and bail a friend out of jail. That was entertaining, let me tell you.
Oh, and then we decided to take my computer in to have it looked at, and $245 plus one argument with the tech people that had to go up the ladder all the way to their district managers, my computer works only marginally better than it did before (thanks to the anti-virus software eating up all my memory) but I am assured that it is virus-free (and, because of said argument, the work is guaranteed, at least for a little while). $367 dollars later, the front driver's-side wheel on our second car is no longer in danger of detaching itself and wheeling out into the stratosphere while the car is moving.
It's been an expensive week, and it's only Wednesday.
P.S. Happy St. Patrick's Day.
Monday, August 24, 2009
Almost-Alone Time
Ryan is at a conference in Washington all week, so it's just Piper & me until Friday. That's a loooong time with nobody else around. I may or may not survive.
At least she's feeling better. She spiked a temp late Thursday night that continued to climb so we took her to the doctor on Friday. The nurse chastised me for not giving her any medicine that morning. Apparently I should've given her Tylenol for the fever and thereby eliminated her one quantifiable symptom thus far. Then the doctor told me to only give her something if it was above 101, which it was in the office, but it had only been 99.8 that morning. Sigh. Anyway, they took some throat & nose swabs, which caused Piper to scream so loud she could be heard in the parking lot. The verdict was "a virus, probably of the 48-hour variety." So all weekend she moaned and whined and refused to sleep. She kept running around, even though her eyes were so droopy and puffy it looked like she'd been hanging out with Cheech & Chong. You'd think that this would exhaust her and she would crash out for numerous hours of sleep, like the doctor encouraged us to let her do, but no. She woke up every 35 minutes all night, both nights, until I gave up and let her get in bed with us. Then she woke up every 90 minutes.
It was a miserable time, made more so by the fact that we actually had plans this weekend. Ryan asked a friend to babysit and was going to take me to see The Goods so I could indulge my Jeremy Piven crush. We had to cancel. I couldn't even call anyone to hang out for coffee on Sunday, because the alleged 48-hour virus was allegedly contagious. Having a kid means you will always be a plague carrier of one sort or another. Sometimes it's toys that spark another kid's cartoon obsession. Sometimes it's craft projects that shed glitter all over everything they encounter. Sometimes it's 48-hour viruses that make a whiny 2-year-old's parents feel simultaneously guilty and pissed off that she will not sleep when they are dropping in their tracks.
At least she's feeling better. She spiked a temp late Thursday night that continued to climb so we took her to the doctor on Friday. The nurse chastised me for not giving her any medicine that morning. Apparently I should've given her Tylenol for the fever and thereby eliminated her one quantifiable symptom thus far. Then the doctor told me to only give her something if it was above 101, which it was in the office, but it had only been 99.8 that morning. Sigh. Anyway, they took some throat & nose swabs, which caused Piper to scream so loud she could be heard in the parking lot. The verdict was "a virus, probably of the 48-hour variety." So all weekend she moaned and whined and refused to sleep. She kept running around, even though her eyes were so droopy and puffy it looked like she'd been hanging out with Cheech & Chong. You'd think that this would exhaust her and she would crash out for numerous hours of sleep, like the doctor encouraged us to let her do, but no. She woke up every 35 minutes all night, both nights, until I gave up and let her get in bed with us. Then she woke up every 90 minutes.
It was a miserable time, made more so by the fact that we actually had plans this weekend. Ryan asked a friend to babysit and was going to take me to see The Goods so I could indulge my Jeremy Piven crush. We had to cancel. I couldn't even call anyone to hang out for coffee on Sunday, because the alleged 48-hour virus was allegedly contagious. Having a kid means you will always be a plague carrier of one sort or another. Sometimes it's toys that spark another kid's cartoon obsession. Sometimes it's craft projects that shed glitter all over everything they encounter. Sometimes it's 48-hour viruses that make a whiny 2-year-old's parents feel simultaneously guilty and pissed off that she will not sleep when they are dropping in their tracks.
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
Sick.
We are sick.
Piper and I are sick, sick, sick. We've been suffering some sort of cold/fever/sinus/cough/headache crap for a week and counting. It just draaaaags on and on and on. No combination of Sudafed and Ibuprofen and herbal tea and orange juice has managed to put a dent in it. Piper's sleep has been crap (crappier than usual, anyway, and that's really saying something) and therefore I am tired and grouchy. She was so tired and sick yesterday she spent a lot of time doing this:
This is totally unheard-of in our house. Even when she is watching Kipper or Yo Gabba Gabba!, she will dance around, roam from room to room, destroy/empty/rearrange things, and generally carry on with what she does. When all she wanted to do was lay on the couch, that's when we knew she was really sick.
This marks the first time she has actually been sick. She's had a cold or two before, including a couple during her first winter that had her wiping silvery snot-trails on the shoulders of all my shirts for a week at a time. She's been grouchy and tired after getting her shots and checkups; she has been overtired and moody. But never this, the rattling cough and intermittent low-grade fever and refusing food and sitting still for long periods of time. I am somewhat at a loss as to how to deal with it. She's woken up two nights in a row coughing and moaning "Owie, owie." There's not much I can do for her, other than keep offering her drinks (which she refuses), give her some medicine (which doesn't help), and cuddle her (which she's been asking for a lot of). We haven't taken her to the doctor yet, because I really don't think there's much they'll be able to do for her either. She seems better today, but we are still watching her warily and putting the pediatrician on speed-dial.
Piper and I are sick, sick, sick. We've been suffering some sort of cold/fever/sinus/cough/headache crap for a week and counting. It just draaaaags on and on and on. No combination of Sudafed and Ibuprofen and herbal tea and orange juice has managed to put a dent in it. Piper's sleep has been crap (crappier than usual, anyway, and that's really saying something) and therefore I am tired and grouchy. She was so tired and sick yesterday she spent a lot of time doing this:
This is totally unheard-of in our house. Even when she is watching Kipper or Yo Gabba Gabba!, she will dance around, roam from room to room, destroy/empty/rearrange things, and generally carry on with what she does. When all she wanted to do was lay on the couch, that's when we knew she was really sick.
This marks the first time she has actually been sick. She's had a cold or two before, including a couple during her first winter that had her wiping silvery snot-trails on the shoulders of all my shirts for a week at a time. She's been grouchy and tired after getting her shots and checkups; she has been overtired and moody. But never this, the rattling cough and intermittent low-grade fever and refusing food and sitting still for long periods of time. I am somewhat at a loss as to how to deal with it. She's woken up two nights in a row coughing and moaning "Owie, owie." There's not much I can do for her, other than keep offering her drinks (which she refuses), give her some medicine (which doesn't help), and cuddle her (which she's been asking for a lot of). We haven't taken her to the doctor yet, because I really don't think there's much they'll be able to do for her either. She seems better today, but we are still watching her warily and putting the pediatrician on speed-dial.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)