Haitch-One-Enn-One
Last night was so warm that my friend and I sat on the porch until very late, drinking wine. Mychal was out with his buddies ((Laughing, we'd waved them off: three dads making the rounds of bars in a minivan. I think I'd rather be drinking wine on the porch while Axel sleeps inside than heading to a cool, Oakland bar in a minivan.)
Every so often, Axel cried out; he was having trouble sleeping, he was hot to the touch, his breathing was raspy. He was sick. And restless. And still awake when my friend left, late for me, almost 11pm. I listened to Axel's breathing: a harsh wheezing as he struggled to get air. His cries scratched in his throat, his cough a dry bark. And he had a fever. It sounded awful and Mychal was still out; I couldn't leave him downstairs by himself, so I brought him into the bed with me. Where he tossed and turned and coughed and wheezed until 5 am.
The next morning Mychal googled "wheezing toddler fever" and determined Axel should see a doctor to rule out bronchitis and pneumonia. That was sobering, so I called the preschool and told them he wouldn't be in, and called the doctor. We showed up early for our eleven o'clock appointment and waited for nearly an hour, as I tried, unsuccessfully, to keep Axel from touching anything in the waiting room. Finally, we were seen by a student of pediatric medicine who did her stuff, but Axel's a stubborn kid, and he refused to breath in and out as she moved her stethoscope around. Luckily, she'd forgotten her tongue depressor, so she disappeared in search of one.
A roll of paper hung over the back of the door with crayons on a high shelf next to it. Axel requested each color in turn, drawing long, vertical tracks down the door. The door began to open cautiously, revealing the doctor carrying a small pinwheel. As Axel puffed on the pinwheel, she moved the stethoscope over his chest and back, listening to his breathing. It's not pneumonia, she informed me once she'd taken the earbuds out. Or bronchitis. When I continued to look at her questioningly, she said, and it's not H1N1.
Can you tell me what they symptoms are, I asked. I started to say, I haven't had time to check, but stopped myself in time: what kind of mother doesn't have time to review the H1N1 symptoms? Her withering glance confirmed my hesitation. After she rattled off the symptoms for H1N1, which, it turns out, are exactly the same as for the flu, I described for her Axel's wheezing all through the previous night. It seems the student forgot to convey that information to her. Oh, she said immediately, he has the croup. Phew.
Every so often, Axel cried out; he was having trouble sleeping, he was hot to the touch, his breathing was raspy. He was sick. And restless. And still awake when my friend left, late for me, almost 11pm. I listened to Axel's breathing: a harsh wheezing as he struggled to get air. His cries scratched in his throat, his cough a dry bark. And he had a fever. It sounded awful and Mychal was still out; I couldn't leave him downstairs by himself, so I brought him into the bed with me. Where he tossed and turned and coughed and wheezed until 5 am.
The next morning Mychal googled "wheezing toddler fever" and determined Axel should see a doctor to rule out bronchitis and pneumonia. That was sobering, so I called the preschool and told them he wouldn't be in, and called the doctor. We showed up early for our eleven o'clock appointment and waited for nearly an hour, as I tried, unsuccessfully, to keep Axel from touching anything in the waiting room. Finally, we were seen by a student of pediatric medicine who did her stuff, but Axel's a stubborn kid, and he refused to breath in and out as she moved her stethoscope around. Luckily, she'd forgotten her tongue depressor, so she disappeared in search of one.
A roll of paper hung over the back of the door with crayons on a high shelf next to it. Axel requested each color in turn, drawing long, vertical tracks down the door. The door began to open cautiously, revealing the doctor carrying a small pinwheel. As Axel puffed on the pinwheel, she moved the stethoscope over his chest and back, listening to his breathing. It's not pneumonia, she informed me once she'd taken the earbuds out. Or bronchitis. When I continued to look at her questioningly, she said, and it's not H1N1.
Can you tell me what they symptoms are, I asked. I started to say, I haven't had time to check, but stopped myself in time: what kind of mother doesn't have time to review the H1N1 symptoms? Her withering glance confirmed my hesitation. After she rattled off the symptoms for H1N1, which, it turns out, are exactly the same as for the flu, I described for her Axel's wheezing all through the previous night. It seems the student forgot to convey that information to her. Oh, she said immediately, he has the croup. Phew.
posted by aelis at 3:11 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home