AM is still sick; we’re on like hour 72 of FUO with no other symptoms except for the runny nose he’s had since the first week in October. OTC meds are doing nothing; lukewarm bubble baths, while entertaining for him, haven’t done anything to undercut the fever either. We’re finally going to the doctor because it might not be a virus. We’ll let her diagnose. Or flip a coin.
And while he vacillates between hot/happy and hot/miserable, the grownups around here are TIRED. Like ridiculously so. It occurred to me that having a sick, uncomfortable child is not that far off from having a tiny baby. You might be spending 10 hours at a stretch in bed, but you can’t put together 120 contiguous minutes of sleep. Baby needs nursing, burping, diapers; sick kid needs water, medicine, comfort. There can be a lot of inconsolable crying in the middle of the night. But really quite similar. So here I am, marveling that we did this already twice and how tired we must have been and there are other people, who are really quite rational and articulate, who do this over and over again. Wow.
Insta-update: fever appears to have broken. Which of course necessitated late night change of sweaty underpants and pajamas. Nothing makes your tired, sweaty kid happier than THAT, let me tell you.
Update #2: after a few hours the fever came back. He got poked and prodded by the doctor, had a throat culture and a urine test (results tomorrow, natch), and was deemed as having, in all likelihood, a virus. We are still tired.