Hell Hath No Fury...

like a daughter "swabbed."

Our jam-packed weekend came to a screeching halt today when Tom texted me that Molly was sick and would be missing her long-anticipated soccer tournament.

My mind immediately went to strep because it has been going around and because that's what started Molly's horrible health roller coaster ride a year ago. I also noted that it was Sunday and trying to get help on Monday, Memorial Day, would be nearly impossible.

Tom told me everything was fine and that he didn't think she had strep. That was annoying, and it spurred me on even more, because I sometimes feel as if I need to step it up when he isn't worried enough. I am angry at myself for times when I've deferred to Tom about the kids' health and regretted it later.

Anyway, emboldened by my Mommy-Mania Hormone, I dragged her to the Minute Clinic at CVS. We wandered the aisles for over an hour (note, not a "minute") and spent $50 on miscellaneous health and beauty items and a 2 lb bag of Twizzlers.

She tried to convince me she was POSITIVE she didn't have strep. Her impassioned reasoning led me to lean toward believing her because by then she was as cool as a cucumber and full of perk, but I didn't want to be dealing with a 104 fever in the middle of the night if her self-diagnosis was wrong.

On the other hand, I was fearful of even allowing her into the little exam room because in a similar room exactly a year before, a mundane WEEKEND STREP VISIT turned into weeks of battling a debilitating super-bug that I like to call "Possum Fever." Icky, dirty exam room.

When we finally got into the exam room today, I started squirting antibacterial stuff everywhere. The Physician's Assistant typed on the computer, either ignoring my craziness or figuring out how to spell "Munchausen by Proxy."

The P.A. heard one of Molly's sassy little remarks and looked at her freckled nose and said, "Doesn't she remind you of Lindsay Lohan in "The Parent Trap?"

Dear God. I was none too thrilled with having my offspring compared to Li-Lo, especially because she has been the star of many a cautionary tale in our household.

Anyway, a few minutes later, I would have been grateful for the pre-"Mean Girls" Lindsay to show up, because I was in much deeper dukey.

You see, Molly has been deathly afraid of being swabbed for the past few years. There has been kicking (sorry Docs), screaming, and carrying on. It's lovely, and it has been getting far worse with age.

The P.A. saw serious trouble brewing and gave me an out, mouthing that she didn't think it was strep, but I knew I couldn't back down at that point. What's next? No, you don't need that tetanus booster? You don't have to go to school? Here's $300 for your latest tattoo?

I thought I'd have to hold her arms,but that was nothing. The struggle that ensued as we pinned her down and tried to pry her mouth open would have made snagging Lindsay's last bottle of vodka in a bar fight seem easy.

Molly screamed bloody murder, writhed and kicked. The P.A. tried to pry the screaming mouth open, but the whole teeth-gnashing thing got in the way. I grabbed her by the ponytail and yanked. The doctor tried to battle her into submission, then tried to reason, then tried to talk to her about the color of her toenail polish. The whole thing was a nightmare, which I don't feel fully capable or willing to describe at this point.

We finally got it done, much to the relief of CVS patrons and the poor P.A. who now thinks:
A) I'm crazy. This girl ain't sick, she's just mean.
B) I'm cruel. Hello? Ponytail yanking? What is this, the WWF?
C) My daughter is crazy. There may have been frothing at the mouth.
D) I'm ineffective as a parent. Control your child, woman!
E) all of the above

I made Molly, who said, "Wow, that didn't hurt at all," apologize to the P.A., which she did earnestly and remorsefully, and we slunk out of there. At home, we apologized to each other and held each other for a long, long, long time.

I'm sorry Molly missed her big tournament.

I'm glad she doesn't have strep.

I'm glad I had a Mike's Hard Lemonade in the fridge and the aforementioned vat of Twizzlers.

And when Tom, the King of Consequences, wanted to know what consequence I'd given Molly for her deplorable behavior, I had to admit that she wasn't the only one with a consequence.

Guess who will be taking her to all of her future "swabbings?"

Yep, I may have been wrong about the strep today, but I've paid my dues.

Time to share the joy.

Monday Can't Come Soon Enough

So I'd LOVE to tell you that all is well in the See house, but that would be a lie.

Jake and I are home today with the stomach bug, and even the dog has been barfing, thanks to our neighbors who like to leave food out "for the animals."

The fact that it is once again Friday is not lost on me. Looking back at our recent weekends we've had:

1. Anna and kids out of town.
2. Tom's sister, brother-in-law and 5 kids in town.
3. Molly's strep--- Urgent Care
4. Molly's Scarlet Fever and Puking--- ER. Tom out of town
5. Anna and Jake Sick

And next weekend, drum roll please:

6. Tom's parent in town!

These 6 weekends can be interpreted in many ways-- missed soccer games, sleepovers, and trips to the zoo. From a 40 year old male's perspective, it means that Tom has not and will not be celebrating intimacy with his wife anytime soon.

And although I feel too weak to write a long post today, I have a question to leave with my bloggy friends.

When a blog has a giveaway, does it strike any of you as a little...awkward... to read the comments:

"Enter Me!"

"Enter Me Please!"


Okay. See you when the fever breaks.

Weekend Fun?

So I alluded to the fact that my house had turned into a den of pestilence. Here’s the lowdown:

Molly, diagnosed with strep at Urgent Care LAST Saturday, took a big turn for the worse on Friday night. She puked all night and well into Saturday. By Saturday afternoon, at which time Tom and Jake were conspicuously absent at a Boy Scout Camp out, she was lethargic and her temperature was 104.5. A rash indicated Scarlet Fever.

And due to the fact that her mother had so stupidly challenged the sick gods by bragging that a) her kids hadn’t been sick in a while and b) in 11 years she’d never had to take a kid to the ER, we soon found little Molly in the hospital with an IV in her arm.

Seven hours later we got to come home. And now, Monday morning, she appears to be on the mend. She is, in fact, eating a toasted bagel as I type.

So what did these 2 ½ weeks, I mean days, teach me?

Hospitals are probably not the cleanest places to be. 5 of the 8 or 9 professionals who looked at her said things like. “Oh, she probably picked up a really bad bug while at Urgent Care.” Not really what I want to hear when my baby is in your facility, limp as a noodle.

Sometimes the idea of puking is almost as bad as the act. At first Molly refused to believe she was going to puke. She went through the stages of denial, then anger. She railed at me, and at God. If I tried to get a bucket in puking distance, she would scream and swat it away. This led to some real free-form puking and a heck of a lot of laundry for me. Fully broken by the end of day 2, she was clinging to the toilet with her face resting on it. Acceptance had come.

Bodily functions, while very normal-seeming when a child is a baby, take on a more Linda Blair-ish tone when the child is almost 9.

Sometimes Mom is wrong. When we pulled up to the ER, Molly asked. “Mommy, Is this one of those places with tubes?” I assured her it wasn’t. Within minutes, Molly had her own tubes going in her arm, one with antibiotics, one with saline.

If you are tired enough, and your child is sick enough, you’ll sleep next to her in a bed full of diarrhea rather than disturb her.

If your husband is tired enough after watching Sports Center, and his wife is “sleeping” sitting up on the couch with his daughter for the umpteenth hour in row, he’ll go to sleep on a bare mattress even though the clean sheets are washed and ready to put back on. Stay tuned: this could turn into a Ray/Debra Romano-type stand-off.

I think the biggest thing I learned is that having a sick child is scary. My heart aches for moms with chronically ill and critically ill kids. You see, Molly missed a trip to the zoo, her soccer game, and cupcakes at her teacher’s house. But she’s doing well and by tomorrow she’ll be up and about and telling me that my clothes don’t match. This was a blip in her life story. Other moms are not as fortunate.

I am so grateful that when Molly cried, “This is the worst day of my life,” I could say, “Yes, I bet it is.”

In Need of a Silkwood-style Hose-down?

If you are ever tempted to think, or God forbid utter the following thought: "I can't believe it's April and the kids haven't been sick this whole winter," I beg you to reconsider. Wish I had heeded my own advice.

Up to our eyeballs in strep, vomit and diarrhea here.

Good times.