Remember how I initially took Punkin to the urgent care clinic because I thought his ears and throat hurt? Well, after much discussion via Facebook and one very long stare from Oma, I called Punkin's regular pediatrician about his sad state.
The nurse I spoke with Wednesday night was much more, how do I say it, uh, non-robotic than the one I spoke to on Friday and set up a visit for us today (Thursday). Ah, nice people are so nice.
His pediatrician is so patient with me. SO patient. When I mentioned he'd been exposed to strep, as Punkin stood atop the examination table -- fever free -- ripping paper and tossing it around the room like confetti at a parade, he listened attentively. He assured me that H1N1 can last up to 10 days, that fevers can come and go, that sore throats and occassional vomiting are a symptoms, ect. And then one medical student and I held down Punkin while his doctor did his best to keep all of his fingers intact as he gathered a throat culture.
When he returned, he said, "He has strep. I have to say, I thought it would be negative. Good job, mom." I can't blame his doctor for being skeptical -- he had no high fever, no rash, no outright signs of illness other than sad eyes, poor sleep, and a refusal to eat.
The mystery is, of course, whether or not he had BOTH the Swine Flu and Strep or if he's actually had Strep this whole time and not the flu at all. Either way, he's quite miserable.
That being said, when he woke up crying at 9pm I decided to try to convince him to take some Advil. Riiiggghhht. This is the part where I handled the situation really well. I picked him up out of his bed and brought him out into the living room, TV blaring, lights on, and expected him to happily take a shot of the same orange medicine that he's refused to drink for the past 6 days because it hurts to swallow-- and to do it just upon waking, of course.
In the words of Homer Simpson, "I am so smart. S -M -R -T."
Many bruises to to my ribs and vain pleas to just "Yes! Come on, drink the medicine" later, I plopped him back in his bed so he can wake me up again in a few hours. I was agitated. I wanted my way; I wanted him to take it so he would feel better so he would sleep so I could sleep so I could feel better because I still have bronchitis and I threw my inhaler away because I thought I was better and now I'm not and I'm sick of us being sick!
I went back in his room 45 seconds later, kissed his cheek, and said, "Sorry, buddy. I'm sorry you feel bad."
He was almost asleep, "Okay, mom."
(I threw away my inhaler thinking that I was over the whole "spasming" part of the bronchitis and had used it for its prescribed amount of time. A day and a half later, not so much over the spasms. I called the doctor and she prescribed another one; my insurance doesn't want to pay for it. Jerks. Seriously. Who has bronchitis for 6 weeks? Also, why did I throw it away? WHY?)