Ahhh...sick Bear. Poor kid.
Illness struck yesterday after a fun afternoon at the park with friends. I am now left hoping that no more child get sick, but I guess those are the chances you take when you run with a younger crowd (with still-developing immune systems.)
Initially when we got home, I thought Scotty might just be warm from the 102 degree temps that hit Vegas over the weekend. But his flushed little face soon morphed into tears and just general owl-iness by Bubble Tub time.
(you know, owl-iness. When they just stand there and say, "Ow...ow...owwwwww [whimper, whimper, whimper]" repeatedly).
The thermometer showed a shocking 104 degrees. I called Dr. Awesome immediately who told us in no uncertain terms (with no follow-up questions, either - a bit frustrating) to take him to the ER immediately. Good times. Alrighty.
I won't bore everyone with the details, so here are a few highlights of our six-hour stay in the ER:
-- I'm hoping someone tells me this happens to them as well, but the minute our child is sick or something is wrong, I immediately start picking/needling at my husband. The poor guy can't do a darn thing right, from packing a bag for the Bear to running fast enough to get his socks. It doesn't even have to involve the situation at hand - I stewed for a solid 5 minutes last night about the fact that Brian borrowed my good tweezers for the 27th time in the course of our marriage. A therapist might surmise that I'm feeling helpless about current events and are projecting my frustrations onto a safe target, but I will say, I prayed for two things last night as we flew up the 215 to the hospital: that Scotty is 100% okay and that I don't clock Brian in the face during the course of the evening.
-- Scotty's temp dropped from 104 to 102 in an hour (no meds administered) and was down to 99.5 by the time we left. It was one of those bury-your-face-in-your-hands moment for two reasons: 1.) the nice people at the ER probably thought we were overprotective, highly-reactive parents without a shred of common sense. Yes, we may be, but we were following our pediatrician's instructions, and 2.) how much is this costing us?? Could we have just given him some Advil and a cool bath and called it a night? I'm seriously more than a bit frustrated with Dr. Awesome's thinly-based, trigger-happy advice. Argh.
-- Scotty yelled "Quesadilla!" no less than 48 times during the course of our stay. (He and Lauryn had just spent an entire evening discussing quesadillas at the farmer's market. Also overheard: "Lauryn, I love your flower!" [L had a flower in her hair] and "Scotty, I took a nap today!" Ah, chatty toddlers.) It wasn't annoying. At. All.
-- Coincidentally, Lauryn's father happens to be an administrator at the same hospital. Halfway through the night, a nice woman popped in to check on us and make sure everything was okay, due in part to a phone call made by Claude. I gotta tell you, I kinda felt like a VIP of the Ped ER. I'm pretty sure it was Claude's phone call that also wrangled us a nifty rocket pop, a definite upgrade to your standard ER popsicle. Thanks, Claude. We appreciate the kindness.
-- Scotty, aka Clean-Hands-Bear, refused to hold the popsicle by the stick. Too messy. So he put it in a cup and licked it while I held the cup.
Illness struck yesterday after a fun afternoon at the park with friends. I am now left hoping that no more child get sick, but I guess those are the chances you take when you run with a younger crowd (with still-developing immune systems.)
Initially when we got home, I thought Scotty might just be warm from the 102 degree temps that hit Vegas over the weekend. But his flushed little face soon morphed into tears and just general owl-iness by Bubble Tub time.
(you know, owl-iness. When they just stand there and say, "Ow...ow...owwwwww [whimper, whimper, whimper]" repeatedly).
The thermometer showed a shocking 104 degrees. I called Dr. Awesome immediately who told us in no uncertain terms (with no follow-up questions, either - a bit frustrating) to take him to the ER immediately. Good times. Alrighty.
I won't bore everyone with the details, so here are a few highlights of our six-hour stay in the ER:
-- I'm hoping someone tells me this happens to them as well, but the minute our child is sick or something is wrong, I immediately start picking/needling at my husband. The poor guy can't do a darn thing right, from packing a bag for the Bear to running fast enough to get his socks. It doesn't even have to involve the situation at hand - I stewed for a solid 5 minutes last night about the fact that Brian borrowed my good tweezers for the 27th time in the course of our marriage. A therapist might surmise that I'm feeling helpless about current events and are projecting my frustrations onto a safe target, but I will say, I prayed for two things last night as we flew up the 215 to the hospital: that Scotty is 100% okay and that I don't clock Brian in the face during the course of the evening.
-- Scotty's temp dropped from 104 to 102 in an hour (no meds administered) and was down to 99.5 by the time we left. It was one of those bury-your-face-in-your-hands moment for two reasons: 1.) the nice people at the ER probably thought we were overprotective, highly-reactive parents without a shred of common sense. Yes, we may be, but we were following our pediatrician's instructions, and 2.) how much is this costing us?? Could we have just given him some Advil and a cool bath and called it a night? I'm seriously more than a bit frustrated with Dr. Awesome's thinly-based, trigger-happy advice. Argh.
-- Scotty yelled "Quesadilla!" no less than 48 times during the course of our stay. (He and Lauryn had just spent an entire evening discussing quesadillas at the farmer's market. Also overheard: "Lauryn, I love your flower!" [L had a flower in her hair] and "Scotty, I took a nap today!" Ah, chatty toddlers.) It wasn't annoying. At. All.
-- Coincidentally, Lauryn's father happens to be an administrator at the same hospital. Halfway through the night, a nice woman popped in to check on us and make sure everything was okay, due in part to a phone call made by Claude. I gotta tell you, I kinda felt like a VIP of the Ped ER. I'm pretty sure it was Claude's phone call that also wrangled us a nifty rocket pop, a definite upgrade to your standard ER popsicle. Thanks, Claude. We appreciate the kindness.
-- Scotty, aka Clean-Hands-Bear, refused to hold the popsicle by the stick. Too messy. So he put it in a cup and licked it while I held the cup.
VIP Bear
-- Post-popsicle, the Bear announced to the room, "Momma! I have huge poo-poos in my booty!" It was quite the statement. We made it to the bathroom where he made "grown-man poop" (his words) in the potty, whispered something to me, and then peed on my foot. Turns out he said, "Momma, hold my pee-pee down." Missed that statement but the urine running down my foot was a gentle reminder to always stay out of range.
-- After the doctor examined Scotty, the Bear decided he needed to play doctor, too, so he put me on the examine table, covered my face with Froggie, and proceeded to poke me in the gut for twenty minutes. Fun. Brian just sat there and annoyed me.
-- We slumped home after midnight with nary a diagnosis. His fever was back up today (103.4) so it looks viral. Yay. Cue the Tylenol-Advil rotation.
We're off the toddler circuit for the next few days. Looks like Scotty and I will be spending lots of quality Mom-Bear time together.
-- After the doctor examined Scotty, the Bear decided he needed to play doctor, too, so he put me on the examine table, covered my face with Froggie, and proceeded to poke me in the gut for twenty minutes. Fun. Brian just sat there and annoyed me.
-- We slumped home after midnight with nary a diagnosis. His fever was back up today (103.4) so it looks viral. Yay. Cue the Tylenol-Advil rotation.
We're off the toddler circuit for the next few days. Looks like Scotty and I will be spending lots of quality Mom-Bear time together.
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