The Doctor, Again

We took Gwen to the doctor yesterday evening because she'd been coughing pretty badly since Saturday night and then in the afternoon we got a call from her daycare provider that Gwen was running a fever.

Aside: Gwen coughs a LOT. I don't always write about it here, because I think Holy Crap, Wordygirl, get some perspective, but she's pretty much been coughing since September. We've been to the doctor ... maybe four or five times? I kind of think I *should* start keeping track, at this point.

Chris is the one Denise calls, because he's on the road and is sometimes able to pop in and pick Gwen up ... or, if he's far away, he'll call me and I'm happy to do it. He isn't paid by the hour the way I am so it makes more financial sense for him to do it if possible. Not that it doesn't break my heart and scramble my brains to know that Gwen is sick and I'm not going to her. When Chris called me yesterday to tell me Gwen had a fever and he was on his way to get her, I still had a couple hours of work left, and he told me there was no point in my leaving early.

Aside: One of the reasons it's hard for me to let go of my conviction that sick little girls need their mommies in particular, is because Chris relayed to me that Denise took Gwen's temperature at 107 degrees. ONE HUNDRED AND SEVEN DEGREES. Her actual temperature was 100.7 degrees. Oh, those pesky details!

Chris called our clinic to see if he could get Gwen in for an appointment, but no dice. We had to do their "urgent care" walk-in clinic, which starts at 5pm. It's a little better than the regular walk-in clinic, because you are not going to have to wait 2+ hours for a 30-second appointment, but not much.

I met Chris and Gwen at home and decided that I would skip yoga (the sacrifice!) because although Gwen did not really require full parental doting, there was no way I'd be able to concentrate or meditate or get anything out of yoga if I was thinking about her and her sad little sick face. She is so different when she's ill: cuddly, soft, quiet, still. We had a good snuggle on the couch waiting for it to be time to head to the clinic. By that time, the Tylenol Denise gave her had brought her fever down. She was really chatty and silly during the car ride to the clinic, which gave both Chris and I pause.

Aside: I really struggle with when to take Gwen to the doctor. I hate feeling like I'm overreacting. I also hate feeling like I should have come earlier. It's definitely one of the most frustrating dilemmas of parenthood. I think I err on the side of not overreacting, and yet she's been to the doctor 4-5 times this season. GAH.

We waited for about half an hour to see the doctor. We'd brought two things to keep Gwen happy: her beloved puppy (the one who says her name and sings to her) and a laptop playing a DVD of Blue's Clues.

Aside: We've become THOSE PARENTS.

When at last the doctor came in, Gwen immediately curled into me, gripping on with all her strength and saying "Shy, shy." She's recently started using this word when she feels shy (of all things) and although it made me kind of sad at first, I now think this is a positive thing for her to do and say. But unfortunately, in the case of doctor's appointments, I am not able to respect her wishes to avoid the stranger in her midst.

Aside: We asked the doctor if he'd mind examining Gwen's puppy first. We had really good luck with this approach a few weeks ago when a very kind and gentle doctor listened to Puppy's chest and back and looked in her ears, etc while a very calm Gwen watched. She was then much more open to going through the same experiences herself. When we asked this doctor to do the same thing, he looked at us like we were nuts. He gave it a try, but since Gwen's head was buried in my neck while she chanted in a panicky voice "shy, shy" I don't think she got much out of it.

Gwen did not co-operate during the exam. She was very agitated and upset. We had to hold her head still so the doctor could check her ears. I tried to soothe her by saying, "It's okay, it's okay" but the tears were coming and she was so sad and scared. Being at a walk-in meant the doctor had no time to try to put her at ease, and she paid the price for that. I soon realized that through her tears she was saying, "Okay, okay," in the same tone I was using.

Aside: She's started doing this when she falls down and hurts herself, too. As she gets up she will say "Okay," because I always say, "Are you okay?" She has started to associate the word "okay" with the feeling of being hurt or scared. When I realized this, my heart shattered into a million tiny pieces. It was not okay.

So, my daughter was using every communication tool she had at her disposal to tell us how unhappy and uncomfortable she was, and we disregarded it and carried on with the exam, which resulted in (yet another) prescription for antibiotics and the suggestion to use an inhaler mask (which we already have from a previous doctor's appointment). He said her lungs sounded wheezy and she might have a touch of bronchitis. He might have said more, but the screaming drowned him out.

Aside: I have the distinct feeling that he gave us this prescription to get us out of his office. He looked at us as if we were crazy mollycoddlers, even BEFORE we asked him to examine Puppy.

Gwen did fairly well for the rest of the evening, and from the reports I've gotten from Chris (who shared Gwen-duty with his mom today, as it's Gramma Time Day) she's doing alright today too. Slightly more whiny than usual, but her fever is under control (not skyrocketing up to ONE HUNDRED POINT SEVEN, OH NOES), her appetite is fine, and she is getting lots of fluids.

Aside: There's a reason for making sure she gets lots of fluids today. And it's not the vomiting-related reason. Say no more!

I feel sad for Gwen, not only because she is sick, but because she is starting to learn that the world is cruel. I feel like we treated her disrespectfully yesterday, that we betrayed her trust. I feel really sad about that. The bronchitis (if indeed it is such) will go away, but that violation of trust may last. I hope I can make it up to her.

Rhymes with SHUSH

Gwen has had a nasty bum rash for about three weeks. We have tried EVERYTHING to get rid of it. Let me sum this up for you:

Me, May 6: It can't be thrush.
Me, May 9: It's not thrush.
Me, May 15: No, it's not thrush.
Me, May 20: It's definitely not thrush.
Me: May 24: At least it's not thrush.
Me, May 28: It looks nothing at all like thrush.
Dr, May 29: It's thrush.

Sigh.

Blech

Gwen's stomach flu hit me at midnight last night. I spent about an hour and a half voiding all contents. I'll say this: after having the Norovirus forty-eight hours after giving birth, no other stomach flu seems quite as dreadful. That said, I'm still taking the day off work today, as I have no interest in being further than 5 feet away from a bathroom.

Gwen still went to daycare today, though. Red-letter day: I'm sick at home and don't have a baby to look after. Whoa.

Another Parenting Milestone Reached ...

The milestone of being up all night with a sick child, that is.


Last night around 10:30pm, I looked at the video monitor and saw a large dark spot next to Gwen's head. She was tossing and turning and trying to get comfortable, which is pretty normal. "Hmm," I thought. "It almost looks like she's thrown up in the crib, and doesn't want to put her head down in it!" For some reason, I didn't actually take this thought seriously. One year in, and I'm still such a newbie at this.


About an hour later as we were heading to bed (we were up late waiting for news from Sheila), I showed Chris the spot I was talking about on the monitor. He agreed that it totally looked like vomit, and that I should go check it out. I stealthily opened the door and was immediately hit with a Bad, Bad Smell. I returned to our bedroom and told Chris that we definitely had a vomit situation on our hands. But what to do? Gwen was, for the moment, sleeping. Should we wake her up in order to clean her and her bed? Or wait until she woke up on her own? It seemed unfair to disturb her. Fortunately (or not), our quandary was settled quickly as she began to whimper.

I picked Gwen up and brought her into my darkened room, thinking she might settle down and snuggle in while Chris cleaned up her crib. But the extent of regurgitation was much, much worse than we'd originally thought. Gwen was absolutely soaked, and her hair was full of vomit, and she smelled like she'd taken a bath in stomach acid. Which is more or less what had happened, because I with the awesome mothering skills let her lay in that puddle of puke for an HOUR. Failmom!

I stripped off her pajamas while Chris changed the crib sheets and opened the window to air out the room. He reported that everything she had eaten since 4pm that day was now spattered across her bed. It soon became obvious that she needed a bath, so at midnight - with a guest sleeping downstairs, no less - we ran the tub. (Poor Kat picked a hell of a night to sleep over, but apparently she didn't hear a thing.) I bathed Gwen while Chris got a bottle - we reasoned she'd be pretty hungry, now that her tummy was absolutely empty. She had a bit of dry heaving in the tub before getting out.

She wasn't running a temp, and in fact seemed a little cold and shivery, so we bundled her up in jammies and a couple of blankets and she cuddled on my lap while she drank the bottle and we discussed calling the Nurse Line. It was almost sweet; she was semi-swaddled, it was just like old times. Then she vomited the milk she'd just drank all over herself, me, the blankets, and her clean jammies.

Think about how horrible an experience throwing up is, and then picture how horrible it is for a child who has no idea what is happening to her. When Gwen threw up in my lap, she looked terrified. In between gags, she looked at me as if to say, "Why aren't you FIXING this?" I felt awful. All I could do was hold her and comfort her and tell her I was there, then clean her up and start settling her down all over again. Immediately after vomiting, she tucked her head into my chest with her face turned downwards, and that was the first time I felt really scared. That is not my Gwen. There was fear in that posture, and shame, and weariness, and that is not who she is. She was trying to hide from her pain and seek physical comfort, and that just DOES NOT happen. She held so still. "We're calling the Nurse Line," I said.

We called at about 12:45 am and got lots of good advice and sympathy. It makes such a difference to talk to someone who is not only a nurse, but a parent as well: we got advice like, "Maybe one parent should go to bed so you can spell each other off through the night," and "Make sure whatever she's wearing doesn't have to come off over her head, because that will be unpleasant if it gets covered in vomit." We also got all the info about signs of dehydration, how to keep her comfortable, and when to seek medical attention (answer: not yet).

The bottom line was: if she went an hour without vomiting, we could offer 1 oz of clear liquids every 20 minutes. Only once she went 6 hours without vomiting could we offer food, and even then it should be the BRAT diet. (We are very, very familiar with the BRAT diet thanks to our experience with the Norovirus last April.)

It had been about half an hour since she threw up, so we decided to stay up another half hour and see if we could get some water into her. Before that half hour was up, she had another case of the dry heaves. The area around her mouth and eyes went horribly gray. It was nearly 2am, we were all exhausted - including poor Gwen - and I decided we should just let her get some sleep instead of staying up another hour to give her a drink. I tucked her back into bed, and she was asleep almost immediately.

This morning she seems just a bit off: her walking isn't as controlled as it normally is, which could be due to having less food and liquid in her system. She had a wet diaper this morning and another one before her nap. We've been giving her fruit juice cut with water at about a 1:4 ratio, breaking my cardinal rule of No Juice Evar. It's been almost 12 hours since she last threw up.

Another thing no one ever thinks to mention about parenting: at some point, you will have to spoonfeed a child who has had nausea and vomiting in the past 24 hours. And this is horrible, because the child cannot and will not tell you "I don't want to eat right now, my tummy's upset." So with every bite you wonder if you are making your child feel better or worse. It's like a game of Vomit Roulette.

I'm glad this happened on a night before my day off. I had all kinds of exciting plans for us today, including a return to Strong Start (it's been about six weeks since we last attended) and a walk with some friends (it's a stunningly gorgeous day outside), not to mention the THREE birthday parties we were invited to over the weekend. But since I have no idea what's made her sick - whether it was just something she ate, or if she has a virus - I can't very well take her out and have her share the germs. So, home we shall stay. Like I said I'm just glad I have the opportunity to be home with her.

First Fever

Gwen is not herself today. She has a low-grade fever (38c) which isn't much, really, but she's undergone an entire personality change and it's just so sad to see. She's already taken a 30-minute nap on my chest this morning. She did the same thing yesterday too, but before that she hadn't slept on me in more than six months. I can't put her down at all without the droning whining I-want-my-mommy cries. After her power nap I fixed us both breakfast, but she had no interest in it, even the stuff she got to feed herself (which she usually adores). Most telling of all, I finally fixed her a bottle for comfort (and to stave off dehydration) and her eyes didn't even light up when she saw it.

She's down in her crib now for a nap. She whined for about 30 seconds, breaking my heart, when I put her down and she realized I wasn't going to let her sleep on my chest again. Then she promptly fell asleep. I've never seen her so clingy and so listless.

I'm not worried at this stage about getting her to a doctor, as her only medical symptom is the fever (no vomiting, diarrhea, or other physical clues) and the temp, at one degree above normal, is not too big a deal. But I sure feel sorry for my little girl: she must be miserable indeed if she's more interested in cuddling with Mom than creating havoc with her toys, and if even food doesn't much interest her.