Recovery

I believe my last post ended with the optimism of a better day on Wednesday.

What a fool.

You can tell I'm still a rookie at this whole parent thing. I keep forgetting...as soon as you think you see the light at the end of the tunnel, it's really just the train coming, so watch out.

Sam did not have good night. He and Sofia both slept with me, since Filipe was away on business. Sam kept waking up, and his fever spiked. After medication, it seemed to go down. In fact, he asked for breakfast on Wednesday, and seemed to be doing well, despite a temp of 101. But by noon, it had spiked again. I finally got in touch with his doctor's office (who says they should be allowed to close for lunch? Don't they know that's always the EXACT TIME I need to talk with someone??) and made an appointment for 2:30. We were there at 2:00. They took us back, took his temperature, and--104.8! That was after I had already given him some medication. So they gave him more, checked ears/throat/chest, and all was clear. So no idea why he's such a hot potato. So we have to go to the Children's Hospital for a bevy of tests. Sounds like fun!

They pin the poor kid down, three nurses in all, and take turns trying to find a vein in his arm. This takes at least 20 minutes. I'm leaning over him, holding his hand, trying in vain to comfort this screaming baby, when the room suddenly gets very hot. I'm sweating, my feet start tingling, and I think, "Oh, crap. This isn't good." I make the mistake of peeking over at them mutilating Sammy's arm when I realize I have to sit down. I remember, oh, yes, I don't think I've eaten yet today. It's 4:30pm. One of the nurses runs to grab some cold cloths for my headand neck, while another gets me a cold Gatorade.

What a great mom! My son is roasting inside his tiny little body, forced to endure cruelty at the hands of strangers, and I not only slow the process down by stealing his nurses, but I leave him to face the pain alone. Not one of my finer moments. I know it's my own fault, have to take care of yourself so you can take care of the children, blah blah blah. Bottom line: I wasn't there for my son when he needed me. Lucky for me, he's only 18 months old, so I don't think I'm going to have to pay for additional therapy for him, but still.

A few heel pricks and an injection and a catheter later, and we're ready to go home. My little man has bruises all over his arms and legs, and he is beat. He missed his afternoon nap on top of everything.

We get home, and not one hour later, Sofia throws up all over the living room floor. So which child do I take care of--the vomiting 3 year old, or the high-fever infant? Fortunately, Filipe had gotten home shortly before, and he jumped in to take care of Sammy.

Happy ending to the story: Sofia now feels better, and is back to jumping around on all the furniture. Sam's fever has gone down, and all of his tests came back clean. So we still don't know why the high fever. But at least it's gone. And Ben has yet to show any symptoms of anything--keep your fingers crossed! All 3 children went to sleep as normal, so here's hoping they sleep through the night--I sure would like to!