Wednesday, May 25, 2016
Wednesday
Day two of Micah's throat sickness. Turns out it was his throat. This is the first time we've observed plain old secretive behavior from him.
Like everyone in the world, Micah hates the strep test. Before he could talk, if he had a fever, or the sniffles, or gave any sign whatsoever that he wasn't feeling well, we'd take him in and jam q-tips down his throat. Cheeks a little pink? Lets jam q-tips down his throat and see what we're dealing with. Fall down at the playground? Jam q-tips down his throat.
Micah hasn't had a vaccine shot in a while. There's a blissful gap in vaccinations between 18 months and the 4 year checkup. But it's coming. I mention it because, in Micah's memory, the very worst thing that can happen to you at the Dr's office is the q-tip jam. We have relatives with similar aged children. They live in rocky places and have real grownup relationships that don't revolve around their kids. They drink wine. Their kids have the independence to climb to the top of things and fall to the ground, limbs splayed, bones broken. The doctor's office is a different place for these children. They've seen things. Straps and tools and personnel that Micah can't even imagine.
We live in a sandy place and have coated all surfaces with cooking spray. We limit our adult interactions, not because we are socially inept, as we have led you to believe, but to maintain our laser focus on Micah not falling down. The strep test really is the only thing to dread in his healthcare universe. And boy does he dread it.
He mentions it whenever the doctor comes up. If we go for an annual check up: "But no throat thing, right Daddy?". Right.
Months ago he had an ear infection. We ignored it for a few days until it was roaring pretty good. By the time he was really miserable it was 7pm and urgent care was our only option. We talked about it in the lobby. While I tried to watch HGTV over his shoulder, he searched my face for any hints of trouble.
"They're just going to look in your ears. It'll be really quick"
"But no throat thing, right Daddy?"
"They might look in your throat, but that's it"
"No, I don't want them to!" and he starts crying.
"It's ok, it's ok. they aren't going do anything but look. I promise"
But it was too late. By the time the doctor got to us he was inconsolable. Everything the nurse or doctor did was the most terrifying thing Micah'd ever experienced. The pulse oxymeter that clamps on to your finger and measures your oxygen levels was going to bite him. He was sure of it. The crinkly paper that lined the exam bed was too crinkly. Too crinkly! The room and everything in it had turned against him. I eventually had to lock him up in a bear hug while the nice doctor looked in his ears.
A side note about urgent care. They see adults mostly. So when you bring in your 35 pound three year old who's screaming with fear, it's not really their wheel house. Also, I don't think they really know how to dose antibiotics for someone that small. I'm almost positive they walk out of the room and google it.
So yesterday when we took him to the doctors office, I asked that they examine his throat first before the test. Maybe we didn't even need the test. Maybe there was some other reason for Micah's fever. After all, he'd complained of a headache, and said he didn't feel well in a general way. And he coughed a little bit, but hadn't mentioned his throat even once.
"Wow. His throat looks terrible. We're definitely going to need to check that."
His throat was so bad, that when they swabbed it, the cotton came back red with blood. Micah had hornswaggled me. I had been bamboozled by my 3 year old.
"Why didn't you tell me your throat hurt? You have to tell me, or we can't make it better!"
"I just didn't want to do the throat thing."
I'm really proud in a strange way. I am totally unprepared to do battle with him. He is already smarter than me, and his brain is probably still growing! I'm not a scientist, I don't know how brains work. But this is the first hint of foresight and planning. He saw an undesirable outcome and he tried his best to change it through deceit. He's turning into a real person. I love him so much.
Like everyone in the world, Micah hates the strep test. Before he could talk, if he had a fever, or the sniffles, or gave any sign whatsoever that he wasn't feeling well, we'd take him in and jam q-tips down his throat. Cheeks a little pink? Lets jam q-tips down his throat and see what we're dealing with. Fall down at the playground? Jam q-tips down his throat.
Micah hasn't had a vaccine shot in a while. There's a blissful gap in vaccinations between 18 months and the 4 year checkup. But it's coming. I mention it because, in Micah's memory, the very worst thing that can happen to you at the Dr's office is the q-tip jam. We have relatives with similar aged children. They live in rocky places and have real grownup relationships that don't revolve around their kids. They drink wine. Their kids have the independence to climb to the top of things and fall to the ground, limbs splayed, bones broken. The doctor's office is a different place for these children. They've seen things. Straps and tools and personnel that Micah can't even imagine.
We live in a sandy place and have coated all surfaces with cooking spray. We limit our adult interactions, not because we are socially inept, as we have led you to believe, but to maintain our laser focus on Micah not falling down. The strep test really is the only thing to dread in his healthcare universe. And boy does he dread it.
He mentions it whenever the doctor comes up. If we go for an annual check up: "But no throat thing, right Daddy?". Right.
Months ago he had an ear infection. We ignored it for a few days until it was roaring pretty good. By the time he was really miserable it was 7pm and urgent care was our only option. We talked about it in the lobby. While I tried to watch HGTV over his shoulder, he searched my face for any hints of trouble.
"They're just going to look in your ears. It'll be really quick"
"But no throat thing, right Daddy?"
"They might look in your throat, but that's it"
"No, I don't want them to!" and he starts crying.
"It's ok, it's ok. they aren't going do anything but look. I promise"
But it was too late. By the time the doctor got to us he was inconsolable. Everything the nurse or doctor did was the most terrifying thing Micah'd ever experienced. The pulse oxymeter that clamps on to your finger and measures your oxygen levels was going to bite him. He was sure of it. The crinkly paper that lined the exam bed was too crinkly. Too crinkly! The room and everything in it had turned against him. I eventually had to lock him up in a bear hug while the nice doctor looked in his ears.
A side note about urgent care. They see adults mostly. So when you bring in your 35 pound three year old who's screaming with fear, it's not really their wheel house. Also, I don't think they really know how to dose antibiotics for someone that small. I'm almost positive they walk out of the room and google it.
So yesterday when we took him to the doctors office, I asked that they examine his throat first before the test. Maybe we didn't even need the test. Maybe there was some other reason for Micah's fever. After all, he'd complained of a headache, and said he didn't feel well in a general way. And he coughed a little bit, but hadn't mentioned his throat even once.
"Wow. His throat looks terrible. We're definitely going to need to check that."
His throat was so bad, that when they swabbed it, the cotton came back red with blood. Micah had hornswaggled me. I had been bamboozled by my 3 year old.
"Why didn't you tell me your throat hurt? You have to tell me, or we can't make it better!"
"I just didn't want to do the throat thing."
I'm really proud in a strange way. I am totally unprepared to do battle with him. He is already smarter than me, and his brain is probably still growing! I'm not a scientist, I don't know how brains work. But this is the first hint of foresight and planning. He saw an undesirable outcome and he tried his best to change it through deceit. He's turning into a real person. I love him so much.
# posted by joel @ 7:55 AM 
