We’ve been hit! The 2018 plague has finally reached the Wilson abode, and though I’m apparently immune, the mental strain of dealing with a sick kid has taken a toll (how long ‘til spring break?)
Two weeks ago, the nurse from Tiny Dancer’s school called and left a cryptic voicemail: “Your daughter is running a low-grade fever. She’s been asleep for an hour but we don’t want to check her again in case she’s over 100.” If a student records higher than that, they cannot return to school for at least 24 hours. God bless her, the nurse didn’t want to be responsible for my youngest missing more class time than was necessary.
We skipped the pediatrician (who’d just say it’s viral and to drink lots of fluids) and treated her flu-like symptoms at home with ibuprofen and Sunny D. TD recovered and made it another 10 days before she was struck down again. When the thermometer reached nearly 103, I hauled her to the nearest MinuteClinic, where she tested negative for both flu and strep, though even the nurse practitioner wasn’t sure she had “gotten good swabs.” This was when I made a fatal error: I went online.
According to the stupid internet, TD could have anything from mono to Lyme disease, but if it was undetected strep, my baby was at risk for rheumatic fever and possible heart failure. For two nights, I lie awake wondering if an ER run was in our future, so I finally made an appointment with the doctor, who looked at me and said, “It’s viral; drink lots of fluids.”
I need spring break.