Thursday, October 11, 2012

Mama's Home Remedies

Nobody makes cookies like Mama makes cookies. Except the nurses in the pediatric ward.  Theirs are better.






Kid 1 spent the last two days in the hospital.   Nothing life threatening, but he was that point of pretty broken and getting worse, where the doctors are scratching their heads and I'm scratching my head and my husband who we will call the Physicist is scratching his head and we're all looking at xrays and lab results and things and finally we all decide simultaneously to admit him.  After 6 weeks of hemming and hawing and fussing and worrying.  Ok, nobody but me did those last two.  But I did them enough for everyone.

So I pack him a bag and he's all "I don't want to sleep in the hospital" and I'm all, "dude, you're broken and you need fixing and you're gonna stay there and like it until you are not broken."  Except I only said that in my head because outwardly I'm a nice person and so I just packed his favorite stuffed dog and told him that I and the dog would stay with him the whole time, and it wouldn't be bad and we'd come home soon.

We went to the hospital and I wore a cute little dress and cute new shoes because people are nicer if you look nice and I needed everyone there to be really really nice to my kid so I couldn't let him down by being repulsive. 

The next time I do that, and check myself and kid into hospital for an unknown period of time, I'm going to remember to also pack myself a bag.  And a change of clothes, maybe a hairbrush. And choose cute shoes that don't put long sharp bleeding gashes in my feet.  I slept the first night in my little black dress and some fluffy blue slippers from the gift shop.  I think people were extra nice to him because they figured his mom was a train wreck crazy lady.

So kid 1 and I spent 48 hours in hospital, and he was an amazing trooper and the nurses all loved him like crazy, and every time they were all "honey, I know this medicine is unbearable, let us just put a tube in your nose so you don't have to taste it," he'd be all "I can drink way worse than that," and down a liter of it without a fuss (he described it cheerfully as "soapy pool water").  And when they came to take some blood he'd be all "only two vials?  Yesterday they took six and it didn't even hurt."  And he'd watch them put the needle in and suck his blood without even flinching, which hello, I can't even do and I'm a veteran armored personnel carrier jumper/elbow breaker. So then they brought him extra popsicles.

And after two days they pronounced him Fixed, and we got to leave, and I'm  jumping up and down happy and you know what he does?  Tears up.  Gets all freaking misty eyed.  He spent two days under conditions I would consider torture, and didn't flinch, but he almost cried when we left.  Because, he said, he was going to miss all the nurses and doctors.  I am mildly insulted by this as I'm pretty sure he thinks they're nicer than I am, which is completely true: not one of them tried to make him do his homework or asked him to tidy anything.

This whole time Physicist was in Atlanta at a conference, because the Physics gods know exactly when I'm going to want my husband around, and they take him away *on purpose.*  And he would totally have come home if it turned into surgery, but it didn't, so I got to be the train wreck crazy lady without any support.

Except for my mom, who is amazing and a godsend and watched 3 year old Kid 2 the whole time and also brought me a pair of jeans and some decent shoes the second day, for which I will love her forever.

So we get home, and I'm completely relieved that 6 weeks of medical madness is finally over, and we can all relax again, and I'm cuddling kid2 and look down and his palms are covered in red spots.

Two weeks ago his preschool notified us all that hand, foot, and mouth disease is going around.  Which, thank goodness, is not the same as hoof and mouth disease and the toddlers don't have to be herded out into the field and humanely, umm, anything, which is a really good thing, though I'm sure it still sucks for the cows when it happens to them.  So now kid2 has spots all over his palms, which is a sign of h/f/m disease, and I only got home from the hospital 15 minutes ago with kid1.  They do this on purpose, you know.

Other than the no field/shooting thing,  I know nothing about this, but Dr. Google helped me out by telling me it was totally not a big deal and there is really no treatment, it just has to run its course.  Unless your kid gets encephalitis and dies.

Dr. Google is like that.  Always the backhanded compliment.

Dr. Google's other main points were
1. the rash is really infectious so
2. Don't let your kid touch anything, or touch anything your kid has touched, or let anyone ever again touch anything your kid has touched or looked at funny or been in the vicinity of touching.
3. But don't worry, it's totally not a big deal.
4. And also, there's no treatment.  You just brave it out and it goes away.

You know what they need to make?  Latex gloves in size 3T.  That might be the only way to keep a three year old from touching things.  They don't make those.  I checked.

But the red spots don't seem painful and I spent today watching him touch every unwashable thing in my house, like the carpet and the couch and the walls and the chairs and every possible toy because we can't take him out in public, and at this point I'm really kind of medically broken down and can't handle being vigilant anymore and if we all get non painful red spots on our palms I tell myself I can deal.

At which point I check his pudgy little hands and the rash has gone from flat pink spots to red swollen blisters. Vile.  Those things were just about to burst and send us all into a virus-ridden uninhabitable hell.  And his pediatrician was emailing me confirmation that there is no treatment.

Except I am a Mom, and I am done with my kids being sick, and I am Not Giving In to the blisters.  So I marched into my garden with some shears, and I home-remedied that kid, and I shoved his protesting little hands in socks, and now 4 hours later his blisters are back to being pink flat spots, and I home-remedied him again in his sleep, and I am not letting that damn rash win if I have to sacrifice my whole damn garden to stop it.

And then I disinfected my house.  

Physicist is done in Atlanta and when he gets home in 30 minutes, he better have some good presents in his pocket, for all three of us.  Four.  My mom should get a present too.

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