So remember the boy who wasn’t feeling exactly on top of his game over the weekend? The boy with the big headache and the fever?
When he actually CHOSE to lay motionless on the sofa for an extended period of time today, after I had already given him the green light for staying home from school, which should have screamed out, “Video Game City, Man!”, and decided to simply stare at the wall and cry because his head hurt, and then began chanting, “My throat! My throat feels like a thousand knives are in it!” I knew that it was time to head to the pediatrician’s office.
(I’m not sure that last sentence would pass in a high school English class. I think the run-on-ness of it is a bit overdone. But, when you’ve graduated from college and have that framed piece of paper that boldly declares, “I am done with my education!” then you can type anyway you see fit. Run-on sentences included. Sentence fragments, too.)
We were off to the doctor’s office at 2:00 this afternoon, and this mama was convinced that the boy was sporting yet another case of strep throat. Our family catches strep throat just by speaking the words out loud, which we try not to do. Imagine my surprise when Dr. B. decided to swab his nose instead of his throat! And, for the record, getting a flu swab done is mighty gross, as Dr. B. fished around in the boy’s nasal cavity until she had managed to snag a big boogar, which she proceeded to pull out with a flourish, and that was just something that I did! not! need! to! see!
(Exclamation points repeated throughout a sentence are also a sure sign that you’ve lived long enough to be done with Freshman English class, so the threat of having your blog post ripped to shreds with a red marker are slim.)
And then, moments later, the verdict was in.
Hello, people! SWINE FLU!! Big, fat danger! Plague! Pandemic!
We walked out of the clinic, and I had to restrain myself to keep from telling the boy, “Please don’t walk too close to me, and do try extra hard not to breathe on mama. Thank you.”
Once we were home, I was overwhelmed with the urge to flush my own nose with Clorox bleach and fill the bath tub with Germ-X for a nice soak. Needless to say, I’ve been following the little man around with Clorox wipes tonight, which hasn’t been to hard, because, bless his heart, he’s simply set up base camp in front of the TV.
It looks like we’re in it for the long haul, people. Quarantined.
I’ve cleared my schedule for the next couple of days, and I’m beginning to think that I’ve finally found a window of opportunity to gut the boy’s bedroom and flush out the squillions of Legos that are scattered everywhere, not to mention the Fruit Roll-Up snack wrappers stuffed in the closet and the shoes in the book case.
Clearly, the boy is a pig.
But we love him grandly, and we’ve snuggled him thoroughly tonight, and Hubs even brought out General Grievous’ light saber for the boy. It was supposed to be one of his Christmas presents, and it was hidden ever-so-wonderfully, but Hubs decided that having the swine flu warranted getting a new light saber. Needless to say, the young Jedi was thrilled, and he even managed to muster just enough energy to search the far edges of the house for batteries and swing the thing around several times.
However, his energy levels were not quite high enough to dig into the pile of homework that his teacher sent home for him tonight. “Mama, I’m just too weak to open my homework folder and see what’s inside of it.”
We’ll save that for tomorrow.
Right after mama cleans that little piggy’s bedroom.
So, if anyone wants to offer up a small prayer for the boy today, we’re taking them!