"Listen. I have two older kids. I've seen sick kids and I've seen sick kids.
I'm telling you - this kid is beyond A-Few-Pedialyte-Popsicle-And-All-Will-Be-Well Sick.
This kid is miserable. He's hard to wake up, he's barely drinking anything, and although he has stopped puking, he's not even interested in Lightning McQueen. That's how sick he is."
And indeed, my Little Dude was looking sick.
You know how the common wisdom goes "better a high fever and a kid who is running around than a low fever and a kid who is listless and lethargic" and how that common wisdom makes you feel better because even though your child is spiking a 103, she's turning only-slightly-slower-than-usual cartwheels?
Well today, I got the worried end of that wisdom.
And best yet? During the highpoint of my panic, I got a phone call from a someone (you don't know her, I promise, and no it wasn't a relative so don't blame anyone you think you know) who was so helpful as to whip me into a frenzy by suggesting that perhaps it wasn't just the stomach flu my sweet boy had, but instead a particularly menacing case of E. coli infection. Or maybe meningitis. Or Dengue fever. And PLEASE STOP thank you very much, before I scream my eyes out.
I can guarantee to anyone who would think I'm not worrying enough about all the What Ifs that I am indeed worrying about all the What Ifs.
And with every spare neuron and ten-thousand Google searches.
On the other hand, the nurse I spoke to on the phone at the doctor's office was, to her great credit, a calming influence. It's not that she patted me on the head with a "There, there! Just a touch of a summer cold." What she did do was take me seriously, listened more than talked, and then had me run through a few at-home tests.
I felt important. And capable. Even though I knew I sounded crazed, she trusted my intuition and Mommitude.
Via her instructions from Pediatric Mission Control, she asked me to wake up my sick kiddo, tell him to stand on the sofa, and then while I was holding his hand, she told me to ask him to jump off the sofa...and then report back my findings.
For the briefest second, I wondered whether this test had less to do with my sick kiddo and was more so an ingenious distraction for crazed mothers to bide the time until it was time to bring the sick child to his appointment. Like, maybe next the nurse was going to ask me to skip through the house and count all the blue objects that begin with the letter P.
But no. She explained to me that this was one way to do a quick test for appendicitis, the thought being that a kid with an inflamed anything would not stand up much, let alone jump, let alone jump off a sofa.
(DISCLAIMER: Please do not try this at home under similar circumstances with your own sick kiddo. If this jumping off the sofa diagnostic tool is all hogwash and really isn't a rapid test for appendicitis but indeed just a distraction technique for worried moms, I don't want to get anyone else's kid into a Medical Situation because of my blog post. I am NOT a doctor, nor do I play one on my blog.)
Anyway, my kiddo jumped...then immediately crumpled to the floor in exhaustion, and the nurse said we were good to wait until the appointment.
At the appointment, the doctor took one look at my sick little boy and said that were this yesterday after my son had been throwing-up so much, he (the doctor) most likely would have sent us right to the hospital for i.v. fluids. However, since the sick boy finally had a half quart of Pedialyte in him and was keeping it down, we'd play it on an hour-by-hour basis. As long as my little guy was drinking a few tablespoons an hour and no more pukey-pukey, we were good to go.
On the other hand, the doctor seemed impressed with my "This Sh*t Is Bananas" mind set, and was, I'm sure, convinced that if one fewer tablespoon went in than was supposed to, I wouldn't hesitate to jump in the car and get the i.v. hook-up.
And I wouldn't have hesitated.
I spent the next five hours with my four year old in my lap, him alternately moaning and sleeping, me forcing fluids into him every fifteen minutes, and slowly but surely, we got to the point where at 7:30 this evening, the puking has stopped for good, the Pedialyte has been drunk, there was a pee-pee in the potty, and a slice of toast has been eaten in front of the Lightning McQueen movie.
It's been a long day of mommying.
I'll blog tomorrow.
|More soccer, less puking, please!|