That is until E, who is usually full of insanely cute banter and boundless energy, woke up last week with a fever and wouldn’t walk. Not wanting to be overprotective, I decided to wait a little while and see if she would pencil walking in to her schedule when she was feeling a little better. But by the afternoon, she still wouldn’t put any weight on her feet so I called the pediatrician.
We brought her in “right away” as we were told to do by a receptionist with a worried voice. When the on-call doctor saw her, she made a preliminary diagnosis of Toxic synovitis -which sounds much scarier than it is – hence the link and we were insructed to give her Motrin every six hours and by the next day she should be fine as wine. “But, if not, bring her to Urgent Care because she’ll need to be evaluated further.” The next day she was not fine. In fact her fever was up and she was in no mood to be upright.
Rather than just rushing her to Urgent Care though, I opted to email my pediatrician and see what he thought. Being that I live in LA, my pediatrician was spending his weekend giving physicals to kids who were auditioning to be cast on a kid’s version of Survivor – I’m not joking. I wish I were. But my pediatrician whom you may have heard me talk about before, is such a saint that he told me to bring her down to the Doubletree Hotel and he’d have a look at her immediately. Past the Sunday Jazz Lounge in the atrium was my doctor’s suite which he had pimped into a makeshift examination room. Due to the magic of Motrin, E was in decent spirits but still wasn’t walking and after a thorough evaluation, my doctor determined that she would need x-rays to rule out anything more serious.
We were rushed to the hospital to be admitted overnight for tests. To say my daughter’s a pussy when it comes to taking blood would be an understatement but to say that I’m a pussy when it comes to my daughter experiencing an ounce of pain would be a huge understatement. My husband accompanied her into the treatment room for an IV and blood test. An hour and half later, I was sobbing uncontrollably, E was sobbing uncontrollably and the male nurse was sweating so much he could’ve filled a Big Gulp cup. That’s never a good sign. He couldn’t get the blood no matter how much he tortured her. And he blamed her. Apparently, she was too “anxious.” Really? A two year old being anxious while being held down and running a high fever in an impersonal room filled with flourescent lights and no mommy in eyesight? Ya think? I kept trying to go in and console her but because I was sobbing so much they felt it would be a bad idea. Personally, I felt that they were the one’s full of bad ideas. They ended up stalling the blood work until the next day and, finally, at 11:30 p.m. Elby fell asleep, Jon and I calmed outselves with National Enquirer stories of Anna Nicole and finally fell asleep with our daughter.
Monday morning at 7 a.m. the doctor arrived to inform us they still needed blood. I argued with the doctor that E needed something to calm her down before being subjected to another round of needles and perhaps due to my strong personality, I finally convinced them to give her a little dose of something called Versed (which I heard a reference to on ER last Thursday). Turns out we all could’ve used a bit of this and if anyone knows were to locate it on the black market – I’m in.
So all’s well that ends well but, let me tell you, I appreciate every second with my daughter even more than I did last week if that’s even possible. Everytime I look at her I thank God that she’s mine, that I made her, that I willed her into this world. I’m not usually the corny sentimental type (at least on paper – at home it’s a different story) but DAMN, I love this child like my heart’s in a vise, like every part of my being depends on her happiness and well being in this world. It’s a huge job being a mommy and it comes with buckets of tears that I didn’t even know I had in me. Luckily, there’s Klonopin! Not to sound like a bumper sticker but hug your babies today – for me.