7:16am: Scotty has a bit of a dry cough. Quick temp check reveals...98.6. Normal. Off to school, little Bear!
2:42pm: School pick-up. Scott's face is flushed, eyes are bright, nose is running. It's clear. Just a head cold, I reason.
3:17pm: First indication something is seriously wrong: the Bear refused frozen yogurt, our traditional Friday celebration. I shrug it off and let him draw on the chalkboard while I happily nom on my pomegranate-and-Nerds concoction.
5:54pm: During dinner, my mom points out one of Scotty's ears is bright red. He's super warm to the touch and acting very out of sorts. I drag him out of the booth before our food even arrives. He's coughing in earnest now. We head home quickly.
6:32pm: Temp is at 102.6 and climbing. I dunk him in a cool bath immediately and start the Tylenol/Advil rotation. It's going to be a long night, folks.
8:15pm: Our freshly-bathed Bear is not cooperating. I attempt to bloster him onto a pile of pillows to stop his wretched coughing, but he keeps slithering off. I make the unprecedented Parenting decision to sleep in his room tonight. Armed with my pillow and blankie, I squeeze next to 27 stuffed animals and one body pillow. Brian assesses the situation and comments, "Why don't you just let him in our bed? It's way bigger."
He's a smart man.
So while Brian's at the pharmacy buying Vick's, I break the good news to a miserable-looking but now-delighted three-year old. "The big bed?" he squeals before tearing out of the room at top speed. I watch as he flings himself horizontally on the bed, happily making linen angels. At least something brightened his spirits.
9:10pm: We all settle in for a long winter's nap.
10:45pm: Everyone is still wide awake. Scotty can barely go a full minute without a coughing spasm. Brian and I continue to stare into the darkness, silently.
11:12pm: I begin to contemplate the pediatric ER.
11:13pm: What's our co-pay again? Have we met the deductible?
11:14pm: Brian's going to kill me if I tell him we have to go to the ER. Wait, is that a rattle I hear in his chest? Is that rattling? We did vaccinate him for whooping cough, right? Is he wheezing? That sounds like wheezing. Maybe I should break out the nebulizer...my gosh I'm tired...
2:30am: Did I doze off or have I been awake this whole time? Crap, let's check his temp.
[[Scott shrieks as though I just doused him with acid when I turn the light on its lowest setting.]]
Double crap, temp is back up to 102.5. More Advil.
[[cue the screaming]]
[[Now Brian is moaning as well]]
3:15am: All is quiet. The kid's face is so close to mine, our noses are practically touching. Maybe this co-sleeping thing isn't so bad. He sure is snuggly.
3:17am: Except when he wakes up in a coughing fit. Which he just did. All over me. I wipe the grime off my forehead with my bare hand.
4:03am: Is he asleep? I gently raise my head ever-so-slightly off the pillow to get a look at his face and feel a tiny, sticky hand pushing my head back down. Nope. Not asleep.
4:45am: Is this night ever going to end?
6:03am: When is daybreak again? As soon as that sun is up, I'm outta this bed. And calling the doctor.
6:51am: Up and at 'em! Let's go friends! I've never been so happy to see a new day!
8:43am: The three of us are seated uncomfortably in Dr. Awesome's waiting room. My temp is now at 101.6. I'm hoping she prescribes something for me, too. Is that illegal? Why don't they serve coffee here?
3:45pm: The day passed in a blur. After watching "How to Train Your Dragon" three times and countless episodes of Bubble Guppies, Brian's eyes glaze over. Scotty and I both pass out on the couch. A knock at the door and it's my mom -- with food! We're saved! Hooray for confetti Pop-Tarts!
7:05pm: I bathe a very sleepy, tired, and cranky little Bear and we both put him to bed. I follow very quickly in my own. Scotty's face when I told him we couldn't share "the Big Bed" almost broke my heart, and it's then I realize I love sleep as much as my child. Please don't judge.
8:05am: Am roused by a bright-eyed, bushy-tailed little Bear. He wakes me up shouting that the cinnamon rolls are ready! Get up, Momma! At least one of us is feeling better.
10:28am: I decide this day has nothing for me and climb back into bed. Goodbye, cruel world.
12:21pm: I attempt to go downstairs. Nothing sounds even remotely appetizing except the brownies my mom brought over. The soup that Brian made early - oh wait, I forgot! That sounds great. Mmm, nummy soup and brownies. Best. Lunch. Ever.
12:27pm: Oh, I don't feel so good...
12:32pm: I fall asleep on the couch. Fever is at an all-time high: 102.0. I realize I may be dying. Good thing the kidney bean crisis from last week prompted me to get my affairs in order.
2:43pm: I Google Urgent Care Facilities in town. Open on a Sunday. Of a three-day weekend. That accept our insurance. This is a fun Google search...
3:17pm: I arrive at a nondescript facility deep in the heart of Henderson. I remember that I hate Henderson. The waiting room is a 110 degrees and there is actually a man wearing a rainbow-tie-dyed shirt cleaning the exotic fish tank. Every chair is taken. The receptionist seems less than enthused. One of her false eyelashes is falling off. This is what it must be like in a third-world country, minus the chicken crates, stray dogs, and distant sound of gunfire. I take my seat next to the 18-month old kid with dried boogers and attempt to not breath.
4:05pm: Still waiting.
4:15pm: Blissfully, the fish guy finishes. A tiny bit of precious waiting room real estate opens up. I make my escape from Booger Nose and high-tail it to the still-wet chairs by the tank.
4:35pm: Still waiting.
4:45pm: I'm fairly confident the receptionist has passed out at her desk. Did she give me my ID card back?
5:05pm: Hooray! They call my name. I jump up like I've won the lottery.
5:15pm: My doctor's name is Dr. Hibbert...like in "The Simpsons." Well, that's still better than Dr. Spaceman, I guess.
5:22pm: Dr. Hibbert tells me I have the flu. Hands me three prescriptions and promptly sanitizes his hands.
6:36pm: I am back home, on the couch, meds in hand. Three blankets later, I'm still shaking.
7:33pm: Scotty goes to bed. I follow quickly thereafter.
9:22pm: Still shaking. Must. Get. More. Blankets.
11:31pm: Get them off! I'm so hot! Dying! INFERNO!
7:22am: Once again, I'm woken by a chipper, Augmenten-fueled Bear. We head downstairs to watch yet another episode of Bubble Guppies.
8:48am: I'm 12 minutes into the episode when I realize Brian and Scotty left 20 minutes ago for breakfast. I turn the channel quickly. What's on our DVR?
9:12am: I briefly contemplate if, in fact, I'm related to Lena Dunham.
12:01pm: Brian and the Bear return. I have not moved from the couch.
3:30pm: Reinforcements have arrived! My mom glides in like a white knight, relieving Brian from Bear duties. I continue to lie on the couch like a lump. Sandwiches are procured for dinner, peace envelopes the kingdom.
6:20pm: My mom leaves. I almost cry, but then remember she is only 12 minutes away. Hooray for Hualapai!
9:01pm: I'm still up! Maybe I'm starting to get a bit of energy back? The meds are working? Or "The Biggest Loser" is just really good this season? Either way, it's a miracle I'm not in bed already. Perhaps I will survive?
The weekend has ended. I logged more hours on the couch or in bed than I have in 3.5 years. My mom blissfully relieved me from parenting duties yet again this morning, saving us $12/hr plus a booking fee. I took a shower this afternoon and feel *mostly* human. The moral of this story?
Get the flu shot. You'll never waste a weekend.