Stupid Tax

Mid-March thru the end of April we had at least one person (and often more) sick every day.  Mostly it was poor little Vander.  He had a temperature every night for four weeks! 
As a parent, it's so hard to know when to take the kids to the doctor.  Ninety-nine percent of the time (just made that up) their illness is viral and the doctor will tell you, "Give him some Tylenol and plenty of fluids and let me know if it doesn't clear up in a week."  So I don't take them to the doctor very often when they're sick.  I could pay myself 110 bucks to say that.  But then, what if it is really something serious?  A few years ago Annalee had had a super-high fever for three days.  As she went to bed that third night I started to freak out.  I worried about brain damage (which I found out later is not a valid concern) and got myself so worked up that we woke her and took her to the ER at 10:00 p.m.  Four hours later, after putting the poor tyke through every prodding, poking horror imaginable, we came home and still didn't have any answers.  The next day she broke out in a rash and we found out she had roseola, which is harmless and goes away on its own.  If I had waited one more day I could have saved us all a night at the Heck Hotel for $400!

So when Vander got this fever, I played it cool.  He is teething--all four molars coming in--which I swear gives children a fever even if all medical science denies it.  He was pretty miserable, especially at night, but he never got lethargic.  He would just cry all night and then be exhausted.

 Cute, huh?  What is not so cute is what I looked like after a month of not sleeping.

 It was seriously like having a newborn again.

When we hit the month mark he had his worst night yet--only 20 minutes of sleep at a time.  I got maybe three hours of sleep that night, in 20 minute bursts.  Soooo not normal for him.  So I panicked.  It was a Saturday, so we had to go to the Urgent Care.  I told myself not to be an idiot because only inexperienced doctors get stuck with lame-o Saturday shifts at the Urgent Care, but myself wasn't listening.  (I think she was in a sleep-deprived fog.)

We went to the Urgent Care and were seen by Dr. Lame-o.  He checked Vander out and said, "Well, he's doing fine now.  He doesn't have a fever."

"Right."  I said, "Because it's daytime and also because I gave him some Tylenol.  But he's been having a fever every night for a month.  Now, last night, he couldn't sleep at all.  It's not normal."

"What was his temperature?"

Grrr.  At this point I am sunk because I have not actually, with a thermometer, taken his temperature.  I try to explain.  "I can tell he has a temperature.  I can feel it.  But I don't take his temperature because it's a pain for both of us and I don't need to do it when I know he has a temperature.  Also, the exact number doesn't mean anything--the important thing is to know whether he has a fever or not."

He looks at me with what he probably thinks is a kind mask covering his "you are an herbal-remedy fairy-brained tree-hugging mom" face.  He says, "You need to be the mom and take his temperature.  I can't do anything without a recorded temperature."

No he DID'N!  Did he just tell me to "be the mom"?  Now I am furious because he not only doesn't believe me, but he is being uber-condescending.  I want to stab him with a thermometer, but I let it go in the interest of my child and make one last attempt to get through to him.

"I know you think I can't tell when he has a temperature, but I can.  I am his mom.  I know what is normal for him, and he IS NOT NORMAL!"

The doctor smiles and says, "Tell you what.  Why don't you make an appointment at the pediatric center for next week, and take his temperature between now and then, and give him some Tylenol."

Death.  Pain.  Chewing gum under the door handles of his car.  Really gross gum. 

I pay my Stupid Tax and leave.  At home I start recording his temperature every four hours.  And I discover something amazing.  I was right.  In fact, I can not only tell when he has a fever, I can tell what the number is within half a degree!  I kiss his forehead.  Feels a little warm.  100?  100.4.  That night it feels a little warmer, probably over 101.  Yes, 101.5.  I rocked my temperature forecasts all weekend.  On Monday I made an appointment at the pediatric center.

It is a really cool one, with this 10 foot activity board that Annalee and Vander were super-excited about.  We get in to see the doctor.  I show him my diligent list of temperatures, scrawled angrily on a receipt.  I think he senses my buried animosity, because he holds up a hand.  "You're the mother," he says.  "You know your child better than anyone else.  If you tell me there is something wrong, we are not going to stop until we figure it out."  I wanted to cheer!  Vindication!  He looked in Vander's mouth and put my mind at ease over the weird white bump growing over his emerging tooth.  (It was a harmless, painless cyst.)  Then he looked in his ears and discovered that Vander had two very severe ear infections.  He gave us some antibiotics and asked me to bring Vander to Annalee's 4 year old appointment in a week and a half for a follow-up. 

I love this doctor.  I almost don't mind the 110 bucks.  Almost.