So I caved. I took my babies to the doctor yesterday. Usually I wait a week or ten days or sometimes more, but this time I went after 6 days from Ruth’s start of sickness; Hannah and Isaac were two and three days behind her.
The fever. The endless fever. That’s what did it. And Isaac’s cough and my concern for how to deal with his horrid cough in the face of his recent asthma diagnosis. So off to the doctor we went. All five of us. Ry came because he could and, well, frankly it’s much easier to have two parents taking care of three sick kids.
So there we were, in this teeny tiny exam room that was about 300 degrees fahrenheit, with three kids coughing and sniffling all over the place. Hannah had finally begun to return from the dead–hey, her fever had dropped as low as 101, she must have felt like a brand new girl–so she was hopping all over the teeny tiny room, hiding behind the curtain that creates a microscopic changing space. Ruth was whiney and wanting to nurse and nurse because it was her nap time. Isaac simply sat draped across Ry’s lap, head back on Ry’s chest, arms hanging limply at his sides, whooped. His fever was nearly 103 and his cough had wracked his body for a day and a half. He had nothing left to give. So, got the picture? Boiling hot room/closet. Hannah hop hop hopping. Ruth cry/whine/*gasp*ing for milk. *cough* *cough* *cough* *sniffle* *snuffle* *snuff* When the PA finally arrived I felt like offering her a gas mask.
Patient, wonderfully nice PA. Checked on each one of my babies, asking all the questions, taking good looks, swabbing two throats–she refrained from doing a strep culture on Ruth, declaring it torture for poor Ruth to have the swab stuck in her throat–admiring Hannah Artiste’s masterpieces (Ry had the good sense to pull out some paper and crayons for crazy girl). PA’s advice: antibiotics all around. I didn’t argue. I didn’t ask why. I didn’t say, “Shouldn’t we wait for the strep culture?” Nope. I said. YES. Thank you. We’ll take three bottles please. And make it snappy. Oh, and by the way, how long after I start to get sick should I wait before I call you for my bottle?
This morning’s positive results to Hannah’s strep culture confirmed the wisdom of that decision. I admit I did heave a sigh of relief. The antibiotics really were necessary. Doing my part to squelch the super-bug population. Well. Trying to, anyway.
The best part about our trip to the doctor? Well, any trip to our doctor, really. A mile-and-a-half straight shot to a Krispy Kreme donut shop. And yesterday? The Hot Donut beacon was blazing! Jackpot!!! Is it wrong that we bought two dozen donuts for a family of five people? Can anyone say, Comfort Food? We all needed them. We needed the donuts, really. For our sanity. For our health.
Of course, now I’m going to think about how the bacterial environment of my children’s guts is all out of whack due to the antibiotics and now I’m filling them up with sugar to feed the bad yeasties and beasties and whatever else is in there ready to wreak havoc in the absense of all the good bacteria. Nice. Really nice. Kill the good, feed the bad. Now I have to go read about probiotics in small kids. Kill the good, feed the bad, make them eat some more good. I’m dizzy.
What happened to the days of my youth when I just had to cough funny and my mom would call the doctor and he would–sight unseen–call in a prescription for an antibiotic (anteebeeotic as my mom pronounces it) for me and I would take it until I felt better, saving the rest for later? Um. Yeah. The super-bugs. They’re all my fault.