Shane's been a sicky

It started Friday at the doctor's office.

Shane's temperature read at 100.9 degrees. He showed no discomfort, no symptoms, no anything. The doctor decided to hold off on Shane's vaccinations, though. After the appointment, I called Carrie to let her know about everything and mentioned the fever to her. She had hoped in her own car for a business trip shortly after I strapped Shane into mine for his appointment.

Saturday morning at 5:30 AM, Shane woke with a fever. I could tell without a thermometer. His whole body was hot to the touch. The thermometer reading only came in at 101, but still the boy showed no signs of any discomfort. I worried I was missing something. I never had any aptitude for reading fevers from foreheads with my palm, but I could feel heat radiating from my son's entire body. I broke out the Toddler 411 book for research and steeled myself for an eventful day.

The dog crapped on the floor about an hour and a half later. (No, that doesn't have anything to do with Shane's fever, but cleaning up wet, gooey dog crap while your son is crying and mad you won't let him play with it is an ominous way to start a Saturday. Plus, I think it's a funny interjection.)

By mid afternoon, Shane's temperature was 102.9 degrees. He still wasn't showing any symptoms, and the doctor cleared his ears, nose and throat on Friday. My baby books and the internet told me "don't panic." I went ahead and called my doctor for an expert medical opinion and heard the same thing. All the sources corroborated with each other: baby temperatures can run higher than ours, symptoms are more important than degrees, and DON'T PANIC! Carrie got home that evening, I relayed the information, and life went on.

2:30 AM Sunday morning, Shane woke up with a panicked cry and dry heaving. Carrie and I were out of bed in jiffy. I got their first and swooped Shane up so that he could puke on me if need be (I'm easier to clean up than beds or carpets). Carrie yelped when she tried to give Shane a reassuring back rub.

He was burning up.

Temperature: 104.1 degrees.



At this point, you're probably having one of two reactions reading this. Many people will clue in on the 104 degrees first. They'll think about what they would feel like with that sort of temperature. Others (maybe those with medical/parenting experiences) may be recalling similar stories in their own lives. Finally, it's the internet so I don't even want to guess want any random person who reads this is thinking (though I'd be surprised if they read down this far).

Carrie's upset. My son's upset. I'm worried. It's dark o'clock on a Sunday morning. Where do you go for medical advice?

"Carrie, go get the car running."

Ding, ding, ding! The hospital! As Carrie's getting the car ready, Shane normalized and I could tell he's not acting like he's dying. I recalled all of my research, and I figured out what's going to happen when we get to the ER. It would be an overly paranoid regular doctor's visit where the copay is $50 instead of $15. Carrie was upset and in the car and wouldn't feel better until her son got looked at, though. Her protective maternal instincts come through in spades when she thinks her son needs help. I was worried as well, so I figured "better safe than sorry," strapped Shane into his carseat, and off we went. At the least, I figured it'll be a good learning experience and we'll know where to go for the next emergency (since we're in a new location from moving)

I'm calm by the time we reached the ER as is Shane. I think he's excited recalling his other fun adventures here. Carrie's calm after parking the car, because she's in action mode and the triage nurse (or whatever you call the first nurse you bump into) did not seem overly concerned and it's off to a long wait as more seriously injured people are treated (and rightly so). Go figure that very young children can (and usually do) run much higher fevers than a healthy adult would. Eventually, a doctor (who's a parent herself) talked to us. Shane gets swabbed for strep and the flu. Motrin flows and we get home around 5 AM.

The first thought that comes to my tired mind? "I guess we can't take Shane to Sunday school. Rats." Free child care and socialization with other toddlers is that awesome.

The fever stayed with Shane until late Tuesday night. He only read at 100.1 degrees going to bed, and I declared him healed come the morning. On Monday, Shane and I checked in with our normal doctor who told me it was probably Roseola or Hand, Foot, and Mouth (Carrie was working so I was on sick and cranky baby detail that day). It turns out to be Roseola, because I noticed the trademark rash developing when I bathed Shane this afternoon. Medically, he's doing fine now, but it made for a stressful stretch of days.

I feel like we earned our next parenting badge: the High-Fever High-Five! Shane's been might sick before, but I've never felt another human being burning up before. It's all part of the learning process and it makes a great story (and hopefully good reading if you got this far).

When I told my mom the diagnosis, she mentioned that my sister, Megan, had Roseola when she was 6 months old. Nana took baby Megan to the hospital and the doctors, fearing the high fever could be meningitis, were ready to do a spinal tap when a nurse dropped Megan. Nana went in to full on grizzly mode and refused to let any doctors or nurses touch Megan after it was clear that the fall hadn't hurt her. The fever broke, and everything turned out well (though the drop on the head may explain some of my sister's peculiarities....just kidding!) I feel my parents did a good job raising myself in my siblings, so it's nice hearing that some of their trials and tribulations weren't so different than the ones we're facing with Shane.

The sick baby mostly explains my lack of posting until now, but last night a new trial showed up: separation anxiety. Shane refused to sleep. That's another post, for another time. Brogan is showing a lot more personality, too. He's throwing a doggy toy in the air and pouncing on it as I type. I'm getting a kick out of watching him! Too bad he's too loud. I'm going to need to crate him soon.

HAHA. The toy just squeaked and surprised him. He booked it out of the room only to come back and pounce again and tear off around the corner. I better put him up before he wakes the household.

This is Mike, signing off.