It’s not often you hear a parent so elated about a tonsillitis diagnosis. Allow me to explain.
Last night, Sonya Lee (15 months) was a little out of sorts. She moaned a couple of times in her sleep, woke up at 5am as opposed to 7:30 am which is a red flag for Mommy. None of these signs were earth-shattering, no spike in temperature, no inconsolable sobbing, just a little off.
My greatest fear with the long weekend approaching was (and usually is) outwitting an elderly couple to the front door of a walk-in clinic, hand sanitizer at the ready to be the first in a long line to see a Doctor who is pissed about working on family day, knowing, dreading, accepting we would be leaving with new viruses that were never on our radar on the drive there. I would rather go to the mailman for some unsolicited advice or consult my children’s veterinary clinic kit to help with a diagnosis (and a cute flea collar).
You don’t want to go to the well too often. If you arrive unannounced at your Doctor’s office and are told twice consecutively that you are a crazy person whose child has a paper-cut and to go stick your head in the sand you start to get a little gun-shy and the Doctor is less likely to spontaneously point that flashlight microscope in your child’s ear and send you on your way with the coveted, white print-out giving you permission to administer drugs that will selfishly, allow you to sleep tonight (provided you haven’t watched Dateline).
Is she teething? Does she have an ear infection? Throat? Do I give her Tylenol? What if I give her a pain killer and she just wanted to snuggle at 5am, does Children’s Aid frown on those who give their kids drugs in reaction to a guess?
- You don’t want to be wrong
- You don’t want to waste the Doctor’s time if you are wrong
- You don’t want your kid to suffer
Chloe was a trooper, playing in the waiting area with the germ-laden toys, not before filling her pants with the raunchiest smelling poop I’ve ever had the privilege of having her stand-up to clumsily change. In a way, I wanted her to catch something from the wooden balls rolling up and down the wiry obstacle course because at least then the Doctor wouldn’t tell me there was nothing wrong with my child and that I was wrong to come.
I don’t know what it was about the tonsillitis diagnosis that made me happy. On one hand, it’s crushingly deflating to have anything upset your child’s stress-free existence but it was a relief to know I wasn’t crazy and that help was on the way.
I promptly went to the drug store and deposited the prescription in the ever-so-private drop-off kiosk and waited for my buzzer to start vibrating with the news that a pink jug of magic potion was ready to be chugged.
Pharmacist: Mrs. Schlegelmeister? (or some variation thereof)
Me: Yes Pharmacist-meister?
Pharmacist: I don’t think we have Chloe in the system.
Not if you’re looking under Schlegelmeister.
Me: Oh, I thought she had been once before.
The Doctor told me she had been on antibiotics just once before and that was a year ago this April. Oh yes, I remember the bug she picked up while on a family Easter weekend. I guess our nephew throwing up in the hotel pool should have tipped us off there were some germs still looming.
This time, Chloe had been to the babysitters for one hour while I attended a special event at the girl’s school. I’m not saying that’s where she picked up the bug, I’m simply stating she was healthy from April 2010 post swimming-with-bile weekend when she was home with me thru Feb. 2011 when she spent one hour out of my care surrounded by other kids who may or may not have had a contest to see how many of their fingers could fit in my baby’s mouth at the same time.
Following my instincts paid off this time. There’s a gooey bottle of antibiotics front and centre in the fridge and a child sleeping peacefully. Not exactly how I wanted the day to unfold but it sure beats an early morning smackdown at the clinic.
