I’ve always felt a great deal of empathy for any little kid who isn’t feeling well. They might cry and rub their nose, or just sit and look miserable. They might turn their face away from food. Whatever it might be, I always felt so useless trying to make them feel better.
My daughter had allergies when she was little…to everything: dust, spiders, mosquitoes, you name it. Every time I turned around, she had another bout of tonsillitis. Our pediatrician at the time did not like to remove tonsils, so even after he sent us to a specialist in Grand Forks, who recommended it, he still dragged his feet. Finally, after she was again sick and running a fever of 104, he gave in and approved the procedure.
What a difference it made! She could breathe; she could taste food; the dark circles under her eyes disappeared; her voice went up several octaves—she was no longer a little “whiskey voice.”
My younger son was allergic to milk. He also had recurrent ear infections, and I finally kept him on medication for that all the time (per doctor’s order).
Grandson Tyler also had ear infections when he was little. Again, I felt very useless trying to help him. Finally, after a couple of ear tube insertions, he grew out of the misery.
All that said, for nearly three weeks, I’ve felt like a little three-year-old, cranky and miserable and unsociable. All I wanted to do was crawl under the covers with my “blankie” and feel sorry for myself.
I came back from the Hills after Labor Day, and by Wednesday I had a cough that wouldn’t quit, and a nose that wouldn’t stop running. My head ached; my body ached. I told myself it was either allergies or a cold, and it would go away. So I took antihistamines, and Aleve, and ate cough drops like they were candy. I drank a lot of water and kept the tissues nearby. Not much helped. Maybe it wasn’t an allergy??
My ears were clogged so I couldn’t hear much. My throat was scratchy. Even my eyes hurt. I really wanted my blankie.
And there were times I ran a temperature. I’d wake in the night, sweating (and coughing).
By Friday the 13th, I could see my puffy cheekbones and I knew that meant I had sinus infection. I couldn’t fight that on my own…I’ve tried before. With me it’s predictable; if it doesn’t go away in two or three days, I’ll develop a sinus infection.
So I caved. I called the clinic, got an appointment. Got medication. Then I had a reaction to the medication, which set me back a bit.
I even went so far as to cancel my long-anticipated trip to Crookston, Minn., to visit old friends, because I didn’t think I’d like to drive feeling as I did.
My dad never believed in going to (or taking a child to) a doctor unless it was about time to administer Last Rites. I think some of that has carried down to me. I was always ready to get my kids/grandkids treatment, but for me—I would drag me feet. In most cases, it was a stupid decision.
Maybe I’m learning, but I hate to act like a cry-baby. I can manage, etc., etc. But this recuperation is taking much longer than I’d like.
And I’d still like the comfort of a blankie.
Hush, little baby, don’t you cry