Yesterday Braden started coughing. This is a new development in his ongoing cold saga. So, I rang the pediatrician, and he said to bring him in yesterday afternoon. We left early so I could visit a store nearby that I never make it to. In the middle of a conversation, Braden quits talking. I look in my rear view mirror and he is sleeping soundly. Bummer, but at least I brought something to read in the event that very thing happened. So, as I’m sitting in the parking lot reading, I hear gurggle, gurggle, swooosh! I could smell it instantly…vomit. He had gagged on nasal drainage. Yummy.
Like Wonder Woman, I spun in a few circles, donning my Super Mom cape that protects me from the wretched smell of vomit and keeps me from doing likewise. After making sure he was in fact able to breathe, I ran to our VIP entrance and knocked firmly. I waved with a sense of urgency and the nurse hurried quickly. “My son is vomiting in the car. Can I get some paper towels, please?” I ask of her. She hurries, and snags them for me. As I am cleaning the nasty and child, I think, “So much for brilliance. Why didn’t you ask for gloves silly woman?!” So, as I get him just clean enough to remove from the car, I help him get out. The goal is to clean him inside where it isn’t twenty degrees. As we walk to the door bits of vomit trail his steps. I really had to stifle a giggle. After all, I chose this of all days not to pack for a weeks stay in the jungle. No spare clothes at all.
We are swiftly ushered into a room, and I start decontamination procedures. Unfortunately this entailed removing his shirt entirely. My poor little guy looked like a freshman in college who was put through fraternity hazing. We waited a while, but we thankfully got to see our much-loved pediatrician. Braden was prescribed some medications both long and short-term.
After all of this hustle and bustle, the good doc asks if Braden has had his flu shot yet. Unfortunately he hadn’t, because he’s been sick every time the flu shot clinic was open. So, since he hasn’t had a fever in the past 24 hours, he said we’d go ahead and get it. The second the door clicked shut, Braden turned to me wide-eyed and asked, “Did he just say shot?” As I try to smooth his clearly ruffled feathers with “It will only take a second,” and “I promise to hold your hand,” and even “We can get some ice cream afterwards,” he begins to cry. It was a cry that could break your heart. I squeeze him tight, and he whimpers, “Mommy, I missed.” He had peed his pants. My child that was naked from the waist up, was now sporting urine soaked pants. Poor kid.
After a wrestling match, he had his flu shot, and he seemed to recover quickly from the ten second ordeal. “I better get a sticker for this,” he declared from behind red eyes and tear soaked cheeks. He looked a ripe old mess, and all I could do is giggle. “Why yes, they had better have stickers for sure,” I said in my mock authoritative voice. We both giggled, and gathered our things.
Today Braden’s fever has arrived right on que, as if he were invited over for a cup of coffee and leisurely breakfast. So, no school today. All should be well by tomorrow morning. He’s drifted back to sleep thanks to some Motrin, kisses, and hugs. What an evening though!
“All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given to us.”
“Time does not heal, but healing takes time.”