Jan 17 2006

Sneaking.. sneaking.. ever so sneaky.. THWACK! It remains to be seen who thwacks whom.

Published by at 9:11 pm under amy's head,daily,kids

I feel all stifled and squished, even though I’m out of work clothes (sometimes very stifling) and in pajamas (comfiest clothing ever) and pink fuzzy slippers. I can feel my health slipping out the back door into an alley.. And on the way out, letting in a large heavily muscled thug carrying a club with the label “unending misery and pain” on it just waiting for the perfect moment to sneak up and bash me upside the head with it. I am going to attempt to reason with the thug of misery by brushing my teeth thoroughly, gargling with salt water, drinking lots of nyquil and crashing to bed very early tonight. However, by the simple of merit of thugs being thugs, they rarely listen to reasoning. If there’s a club of misery with my name on it, I’m not sure I can dodge it at this point. I guess we’ll see.

What is worse, is that I’m not the first victim Mr. Thug With Club Of Misery has staked out. The first was Jocelyn, the poor little dear. This weekend, holiday though it was, has been pretty hellish for everyone involved. Me and James, dealing with the sick girl, Ethan, being healthy and fine and without parental attention whatsoever because we were so focused on Jocelyn, and Jocelyn herself, sicker than I have ever seen her. Is that a true statement?? I can vaguely remember another bout that was very very bad when she was an infant that may be tied or a close second, but no way it beats this time.

Friday, James picked up Jocelyn from her home daycare, and her provider told James that she has been pretty sick all day, runny runny nose, cough, etc. Sure enough, she seemed pretty bad that evening and the next morning, that I took her to the doctor. While listening to her lungs, she said she heard a slight crackle, which can mean pneumonia. A trip to Target later, and Jocelyn was started on antibiotics. Saturday, she was sick, but it was Sunday that was really pretty scary. Not that Saturday night was any picnic. She could not breathe through her nose AT ALL, and she is a thumb sucker — I’m sure you can see where this would leave her, you’re a smart audience. She was so miserable. She would cough every 15 seconds and then cry, one long pitiful plaintive moaning cry of anguish. James would rock her and put her back in her bed and eventually she would start crying again and I’d take a turn. Finally, I just took her into the guest room, propped myself up with pillows on the guest bed, and held her. She didn’t sleep, but she was able to get some comfort from her momma. I eventually laid her down next to me (thank goodness the bed is pushed up against the wall) and we both slept that way for a while. Every time she would cough, I would rub her back to let her know I was there. I put her back in her crib around 2am and went back to my own bed to try to get in some rest.

Sunday was worse. She started running a fever, and started breathing much heavier and faster, like a panting dog. Her poor little body wheezed out coughs, it seemed constantly. I called the doctor to see how worried we really should be and was told that if she still was having so much trouble breathing after the fever was brought down, then we should consider taking her to the hospital. James let me nap that afternoon and it was niiiiiice. I never nap. Maybe I should investigate it further as a pastime, because I woke up feeling so refreshed (even though I’d slept with bra on and contacts in, yuck, yuck). Sunday night, she did a little better at bedtime, with James going in and rocking her every now and then, until around midnight, when she started wailing. When I went in, she had a high fever and I could see she had the chills, her entire body was trembling. She was so worked up that she kept fighting everything I’d do, she didn’t want medicine, she didn’t want Vicks on her chest, she REALLY didn’t want saline drops in her nose, she didn’t want ANYTHING, not even me to hold her. Apparently, her life wouldn’t be complete until I put her down, left the room and let her scream on the floor to her heart’s content. Luckily, once I took her out of her room and into the guest bedroom, she calmed down and snuggled up to me with a right good will. It was a little scary, her fever being so high, but Motrin brought it down and soon she was sleeping next to me. After a few hours, dozing now and then, her skin felt normal to the touch and I returned her to her bed and went back to mine.

Monday was much better. I am SO thankful that we took her to the doctor on Saturday and that she got started on the antibiotics right away. The possibility of it getting worse than it was on Sunday was really scary. But by monday, the breathing was much improved, still kind of wheezing, but not panting like a dog with her whole huge baby-tummy sticking out and her ribcage pulling in with each and every breath. Today (Tuesday) I went to work and James stayed home with her. She had an appointment with her doctor who made the appointment Saturday to check her progress (have I told you how much I love our pediatrician?? she’s wonderful. I’m building a temple to her greatness) and gave her another prescription to help the cough that sounds like she’s been smoking for 20 years. Fevers have been minimal today and we think she may be able to go back to daycare tomorrow. Her doctor said she could as long as her temperature stays normal, but there’s the whole misery quotient to take into account as well. Her nose wasn’t running nearly as much today, so hopefully it will be even better tomorrow, as well as the cough.

So, while she is on the mend, I can sense the same thug that thwacked her upside the immune system is waiting around the corner for me. The stress of caring for her and worrying for her all weekend have taken some part in it, I’m sure. Plus I went into DC today and walked around in the semi-coldness, which usually doesn’t hurt anyone, but I think everything kind of conspired to weaken my immune system which of course just screams an invitation to the Thug. Hopefully I can outsmart him with lots of sleep, lots of water tomorrow, and no salt. Why is it that salt always seems to progress any imminent illness for me? Is that just me or does anyone else have that too? I think it’s the whole water thing – salt dehydrates you and I guess sickness likes dried out husks of bodies to plunder. I never feel thirsty, but after drinking a zillion ounces of water on weight watchers, I can tell now when I haven’t been drinking enough. When I drink plenty, my lips never get chapped. My lips right now are like dry twigs with the bark peeling off. Better start downing the water.

And then Nyquil.

Happy dreams.. wish me luck against the Thug..

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