The Double Diagnosis

Do you know what I have done all day?

Absolutely nothing that can be classified as even remotely productive.

Hubs ended up needing to go into work last night, because someone’s email was down.  Apparently Hubs’ clients like it when they can get their emails, which let them know that graphic T-shirts have been marked down to $13.50 each at Abercrombie Kids online, and that all of the winter sweaters for children are on sale at Ralph Lauren’s website.

And then Hubs came home at 12:30 this morning, because sometimes email programs are non-compliant with what he asks them to do.  Because I don’t sleep when Hubs is gone, I stayed awake and finished reading a book, and then I hauled a blanket and pillow out to the sofa, thinking that maybe I could trick myself into thinking I was just going to lay myself down for a short nap in the living room.

Myself was way ahead of the ballgame, because I couldn’t sleep out there, either.

By 12:30, when Hubs walked in the door and crawled into bed (where I had gone back to attempt all the PRETENDING TO SLEEP), I was wired with CAN’T SLEEP ADRENALINE.  Sometimes when this happens, I just start to chatter away, conversationally, until Hubs tells me, “Shh.”  Apparently men are not interested in hearing all about your ideas for redecorating the dining room at 1:00 in the morning.

Hubs was asleep three-and-a-half seconds after I quit talking, because he has the ability to just SHUT HIS BRAIN OFF.  I have no idea what that looks like, so I was awake until nearly 2 AM, mentally rehanging pictures on a dining room wall and thinking that I should bake a cheesecake this week.


And I was listening to Thing 2 cough.

Because even though our weekend was smashingly good… and even though everyone was the picture of health… and even though I put Thing 2 in the church nursery with all the other babies, for goodness’ sake… he started to lightly cough around 4:00 yesterday afternoon.

And then his light cough turned into a cough that made Mama sit up and take notice about 7:30 last night.  And by 11:00, in the dark of the night, I knew that the sound coming out of Thing 2’s nursery wasn’t a show seal clapping and hollering for buckets of raw fish after a successful performance.

It was our baby, and things weren’t sounding good at all.

Which is why we ended up in the pediatrician’s office this morning, and learned that when Thing 2 does things, he does them up right.  His big personality GOES HUGE OR GOES HOME, which is Hubs’ life motto.

Our pediatrician assured us that yes!  Thing 2 has croup.  And yes!  On top of that, Thing 2 also has RSV.  And as soon as she said that, I burst into tears that were apparently ugly enough that two nurses and the receptionist all gathered around me to offer hugs and verbal assurances that our baby would be just fine.

So Thing 2 got a shot of steroids in his shoulder, and then we had the physician’s assistant give us a detailed seminar on how to use a nebulizer, while I asked if maybe she didn’t happen to have any samples of Xanax or Lorazepam in a back closet somewhere that I could pour into the nebulizer when Thing 2 was finished with it.

The doctor also assured us that when Thing 2 sits in my lap while we do the nebulizer, some of the medicine will be going up my nose as well, because it’s hard not to breathe the zone of mist when you’re that close to it.  And then she said that I could expect a little jittery feeling myself from all the stimulating mist, which was going to make me feel exactly like I’d had too many shots of espresso in my Starbucks cups.

And?  Do you know what I need?  What I need is a drug that makes me feel jittery, because I certainly cannot accomplish that on my own.  I half expected to be lit up like a Fourth of July sky this afternoon, and I envisioned that my increased heart rate was going to GET US SOME CHORES ACCOMPLISHED.  I saw myself as the tiny hamster in the wheel, running the marathon and knocking out eight loads of laundry and carrying the Suburban in on my back for its scheduled oil change.

Yeah.  None of that happened.  Instead, I felt mildly nauseated after Thing 2’s first treatment this afternoon, so I sucked down two cups of coffee, which were really more half-and-half that was somewhat coffee-flavored than actual coffee beverages.

(And don’t worry; I put the decaf in the Keurig!  I may not understand that asking Hubs at 1:00 in the morning what he thinks of new dining room chairs isn’t going to result in stimulating conversation, but I know when NOT to use the caffeine.)

In the end, the nebulizer seems to hop Thing 2 up, which is exactly like whistling to a squirrel and asking it, “Hey, Squirrel?  Would you like to eat this entire bag of sugar cubes?”  This is not really conducive to a good afternoon nap, so Thing 2 and I just hung out.

I sipped the decaf half-and-half with a splash of coffee, and he tore through my house like an F-5 tornado, who alternated between destroying the contents of my kitchen drawers and lying on the hardwood floor, sobbing because he didn’t feel good.  His cough made me want to thaw the salmon in our freezer and cut it into chunks.


I gave him rice cakes.  You don’t keep your 22-pound physique in competition quality by skipping calories when you’re sick.

(And yes.  Jesus blessed Thing 2’s toes more than He blessed yours and mine, because Thing 2 has ELEVEN.)


How was all y’all’s day today?

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