Day 1, Friday
I was convinced that I was still suffering from the aftermath of drinking coffee on Tuesday. I know, it’s ridiculous – much less to say impossible, but I am was a coffee virgin and what else am I to conclude from throwing up twice almost immediately after downing that monstrous mug of coffee on Tuesday, gasping from gastric pains throughout Wednesday, and knocking out from numbing headaches on both Thursday and Friday? Ok, I guess I could have concluded I was just very sick. But hey, cut me some slack – I was sick. (I’m never going to get that PhD.)
Sometime in the late afternoon, I crawled out of bed, made my way out of the main door and somehow even managed to drive myself to her school. I stumbled out of the car, and from afar, saw her favourite teacher carrying her while another teacher hovered nearby. It struck me as out of the ordinary, but it wasn’t until I caught sight of the cool patch stuck on her forehead then I finally realized – she’s sick!
The teachers informed me that she coughed and threw up about an hour ago at the start of her abacus class. Since then, her temperature’s been rising rapidly. I took her hand, and gosh, was she hot! I rushed her home, took her temperature again – 39.3 degrees celsius – that’s high. I dosed her (and myself – at this point, I obviously and finally realized that what I had taken for a bad reaction to coffee was most probably stomach flu) with Ibuprofen and sat her down in front of the TV.
I contemplated calling BFF to cancel our dinner date. But it was a little too late. Besides, dinner was already cooked. BFF arrived, we got through dinner. In fact, the Ibuprofen kicked in enough for her to even cycle around in the balcony after dinner.
That night, she slept in my bed. I spent most of the night struggling to get up to take her temperature after having just managed to settle down to sleep again.
Day 2, Saturday
Last week was the end of her Montessori classes; we had to skip only Kindermusik this week.
Mr Fluffy Hubby was away on reservice and would only be back by lunchtime, so I had to manage the morning alone despite running on hardly any sleep. I got though it by plonking her down in front of the TV again.
She took her medicines, but couldn’t eat much of either breakfast or lunch.
Before settling her down for her nap, I checked her temperature. 39.3 degrees celsius, 1 hour after her last dose of Ibuprofen. I debated on whether to feed her Calpol on top of the Ibuprofen, but decided in the end to keep my fingers crossed and let her go to sleep. Big mistake.
The next time I took her temperature an hour later, she was burning at 39.9. I yelled for Mr Fluffy Hubby to dunk her in the bath while I prepare more medicines. I returned with the meds to find them still in bed – he was cradling her in his arms. He informed me, “I took her temperature. It’s 39.7.” I screamed, “DOES IT MATTER?! WHETHER IT’S 39.7 OR 39.9?!” I mean, isn’t it common sense to go with the higher temperature reading and just bathe the kid who is nearing 40 degrees celsius??! Huh???
I snatched her away from him and got right down to bathing her myself. Her temperature remained constant. Mr Fluffy Hubby insisted that the water needed to be colder; I maintained that we shouldn’t shock her body, but out of desperation handed the shower hose over to him anyway. He doused her with much colder water, and sure enough, her temperature came down. She wailed and wailed for me. I took over bathing her again and pissing off Mr Fluffy Hubby who insisted that I was just making things difficult for him. We fought some more – most of it with me ignoring him, and consequently, with him walking away.
The rest of the day passed in a haze of sleep and medicines, interspersed with TV.
I kept a close watch on her the entire night.
Day 3, Sunday
She had to miss her art and ballet classes.
She seemed better though. In addition to TV, she was able to play with her blocks and even managed some colouring.
However, she complained of a sore throat and had begun coughing – a development that always brings about conflicting feelings in me. On the one hand, a cough means that her body is attempting to expel the phelgm – she’s on the road to recovery. On the other hand, she hacks away non-stop whenever she has a cough, so she’s most probably going to end up vomitting – mega messy!
She continued glugging medicines; I continued my vigil throughout the night.
Day 4, Monday
Her teacher called numerous times in the morning to ask after her. I’d like to think that she was genuinely concerned, but I have a sneaking suspicion she was more worried that it would be the school’s 1st case of HFMD. Thank god we didn’t make history!
She was fast developing an addiction to TV. The better part of the morning was spent watching Disney Playhouse. In the afternoon, I managed to peel her off the google box to make some art together.
I placed a small blue rubber dinosaur in front of her and she came up with this.
She spontaneously drew a self portrait of herself with her kitty cat.
She maintained a 37.5 degrees celsius throughout most part of the day, peaking at 37.9 degrees celsius (only!) when she refused (she was well enough to refuse!) to take her nap. Her sore throat had subsided, but her cough had worsened. She hacked till she was blue in the face and I lost count of the number of times she retched.
At one point, I fretted aloud, “I don’t know how to make you feel better. How do I make you feel better? I don’t know what to do!” She gasped in between her coughs, with tears streaming down her face, “Love me. Love me to make me feel better.”
Other than the cough, she was almost back to her usual sunshine self by the time her father and grandfather returned home in the evening. She fell asleep easily and early enough by 10pm since she had skipped her afternoon nap. But she woke throughout the night, coughing and coughing. I wasn’t too worried though – at least she was no longer burning away. This spell of sickness seemed much shorter than her usual 6 days.
Day 5, Tuesday
She woke up only to cough for ONE AND A HALF hours in the bathroom. In a moment of sheer helplessness and panic, I made her drink her medicines, in the (stupid) hope that they would help her stop coughing. Of course, they didn’t work. Because she proceeded to cough them all out in huge puddle of phelgm. Immediately after, she had a big bout of diarrhoea. Then she threw up her breakfast (“Ooh, Honey Stars!” she said). Poor girl doesn’t get a rest.
Strangely enough, she stopped coughing when she watched TV. So, I blasted Playhouse Disney for the rest of the morning.
Her balance bike arrived sometime in the afternoon. I tried to fix it up, without any success. In the end, I dumped it in the study room. I figured Mr Fluffy Hubby could handle it when he got home – that’s what husbands are for.
Because of the balance bike, I was running late for my post-surgery dental check-up and treatment facial. I had foolishly made those appointments yesterday when she had appeared to be recovering and it was much too late to cancel them. I had arranged for my mother to be here in the meantime, but there was still no sign of her. So I rang her up and screeched, “Where are you?!” – an act I would of course regret later – she was late because she was buying famous chendol for me; she knows I love chendol.
By the time I was done at the dentist and the beauty salon, I was late for dinner. It was my turn to get screamed at, most deservedly. Mr Fluffy Hubby barked over the phone, “Where are you?!”
I sped home to find her stoned out on Playhouse Disney. I reached out to hold her – she felt hot! I grabbed the thermometer – 38.7 degrees celsius. I was furious with Mr Fluffy Hubby – why hadn’t he taken her temperature and given her medicines?! We ate dinner in silence.
She continued coughing and retching throughout the night. She had coughed out puddles and puddles of phelgm – why hadn’t her cough gone away?! I prayed that tomorrow – day 6 – would be the last day of the fever, as it usually is.
Day 6, Wednesday
She seemed better immediately upon waking up.
She was not coughing as much, she ate her breakfast, she took an interest in my leftover Zinger burger. She watched an unhealthy amount of TV. She coloured, played with puzzles, weights and links. She balance-biked everywhere.
She lay quietly beside me during naptime, but was still wide awake when I woke up 1.5 hours later.
She was on the mend.
I say, love is staying up all night with your sick child… then spending all day with your sick grandchild, knowing that everything is made better by love.
Read Full Post »
strawberrymilk.wordpress.com 