Febrile sounds like such a dirty word

Yes, it takes a crisis to get me to write again.

Sunday morning we were supposed to go watch one of my friends run her first triathlon (an event which, somehow, despite my love of endurance sports, I have no desire whatsoever to attempt).  Bug seemed extra cranky, but I chalked it up to being two (oh, yeah, she turned two last month).

We get there, we see her, we cheer, we take pictures, we shmooze at the finish line, we leave.  The crank continues.  We offer to go to the zoo; she doesn't want to go to the zoo.  We offer to go to the playground; she doesn't want to go to the playground.  You know when you play around with someone when they say they don't want something they normally love, and you feel their forehead as a joke?  I wasn't joking this time.  Take her temperature, I told Matt.

101.  Nothing too crazy.  We let her be crabby for another hour.  She felt warmer then.  102.  We decided at this point to give her some ibuprofen.  She picked at her mac and cheese, which is the equivalent of a hungry Matthew turning down a bag of chocolate.  I guessed maybe an ear check on Monday morning would be astute.

We put her down for a nap.  She woke up from her nap still warm, still around 102.  She didn't want to walk, and cried when we tried to stand her up or move her around.  She wanted nothing but to sit on me on the couch, which never happens.  Matt had to leave for work around 3.  I decided she was freaking me out and I was just going to take her to Urgent Care.

When we got there I felt like I hit the jackpot.  Only one person in the waiting room!  And they got called back before they had even finished their paperwork!  That's like breaking Mach 3.  We got called back just as fast.  They took her temp then -- 104.  Well no wonder she was a hair shy of completely non-responsive.  Have you ever had a fever that high?  I have.  It sucks.  You're completely delirious.  I don't remember much about when I had that fever.

They measured out some Tylenol, since she was already on ibuprofen.  I tried to get the cup in her mouth but she was not interested in the least.  The nurse offered a syringe.  We tried the syringe.  My hands were trembling as I held it in her mouth and tried to coax her into swallowing it.  She was crying and looked like death and I was failing miserably, all while the nurse watched.  Every time I'd try she'd move and I'd squirt it on her chin, like I'd never done this before.  I HAVE DONE THIS SO MANY TIMES.  There was more on her chin than in her mouth.  The nurse offered to help.  I gave up.  We got most of it in her mouth.  We were led to another room.

The doctor came in then a few minutes later.  They were concerned about a bad infection in her joints because she didn't want to walk.  Her ears were clear.  They told us we needed to go to the ER because they could not do any blood work at the clinic, and that's what Bug needed.  I asked if it was OK if I drove us ourselves.  The doctor told me she could call medical transport for me.  Did I really want to ride in an ambulance?  How ridiculous.  Is it really this bad?  I debated.  A 104-fever child is terrifying to see.

Then all of a sudden the Tylenol kicked in and she started DEMANDING to eat.  I took this as a good sign.  I also decided that we no longer needed to be transported.  The nurse said I had to talk to the doctor about that.  "How critical do you think that she is?" I asked.
"You need to get there as quickly as you can," was the response.

There was some continued back and forth, the details of which I of course cannot remember.  I do remember, though, thinking this girl was being a bitch to me.  I know that she was doing her "duty" by recommending the "safest possible way" to get there ... and I also remember her saying something about not knowing Bug's baseline for walking, so for her the ataxia was especially concerning from a neurological stand point.  Bug's baseline is more like a slanted, slippery line, so I decided we were going to save the $5K bill (or whatever) and drive ourselves.  Also contributing to the decision may have been that Urgent Care is not in the most phenomenal neighborhood, and I didn't feel like leaving our car stranded there, and then also being stranded at the hospital.

So I signed this huge waiver saying I was turning down the transport and we left.  Despite no one ever conveniently being in a hurry out here (on the bus, at the grocery store, etc etc), people do drive conveniently fast.  Like I'm going 80 down the 805 and I'm STILL getting passed on the right AND the left.

We make it there, and Bug is still chattering away, eating her Kix.  Of course the waiting room is packed.  And just because we were sent by Urgent Care does not get us any farther up in line.  It was also very appropriate that Bug spilled half her bag of Kix all over the DO NOT LET YOUR CHILD EAT OR DRINK BEFORE BEING SEEN BY THE DOCTOR sign, which also sent eight of the little balls under the bulletproof glass into the nurse's lap.  She told me that Bug could finish the bag (perhaps she's tried to take food away from a two year old before?) but then she needed to be done, because some blood work requires no food for 4 hours.  Great.  That would put us at what, 8PM?

Matt was able to get out of his gig and borrow someone's car to meet us at the hospital.  I was so glad he did, not because I was all THAT concerned... it was more, how the hell am I going to entertain a two year old in an unentertaining, germ-infested room for hours?

Do creepy people just hang out in Emergency Rooms?  Or?  This winner of a family came in -- Dad was in an oversized t-shirt, jeans barely hanging on to his butt, with one of those big baseball caps with the huge, straight brims.  Mom looked like she was trying to be Megan Fox but was failing miserably.  She had on super low jeans, a studded belt, and this tight black v-neck t-shirt.  The back of her shirt said "Motocross Mom."  The kid was in what looked like a motorcycle outfit, and was maybe 8.  He was limping.  We could hear Mom tell the nurse (seriously weird setup -- so they have the crazy glass, but there's no microphone opening in it, so it seems like the sound only goes through the little pass-through at the bottom and everyone, including myself, is compelled to yell) that the kid was run over by a motorcycle.  Matt turns to me and says, social services will be visiting them.  Perhaps.  Perhaps.

There are a lot of people coming in with really tiny babies.  One couple looked 15, and I think even then I was rounding up.  There was one group with a tiny baby, and a toddler strapped into a leash.  They don't let the siblings go back into triage.  So Mom goes back in with the tiny baby and the toddler completely LOSES IT.  Dad is just staring into space.  Like I get the staring into space when you've made a concerted effort to stop the crying, and you've given up, but not from the get-go.  She is seriously screaming like someone has just cut off her arm.  And then a while later I realize that she's stopped, but I have no idea for how long.  You know when there's some horrible incessant noise but you somehow tune it out?  Like that.

Then this man comes out with an accordion.  It's cute.  I pretend I'm in France.  Bug is terrified.  Then a little bit later he comes out with a guitar.  And then a harp.  A harp!  It was a nice distraction.

FINALLY they call us back.  She has a fever again and they give her more ibuprofen.  We are mildly more successful this time with the syringe.

They want to take x-rays of her legs and pelvis to rule out, like, a septic infection.  They also want blood.  Matt, Mr. Skeptical, is upset about the x-rays.  We often fight when we're in medical situations. I generally trust the medical professionals if I like them, and he does not, no matter what his opinions are of their personalities.  There is a chart on the wall that says, "How long will I wait?" that has times next to common procedures -- x-rays, blood draws, CT scans.  I feel like someday I'm going to make one that says "Are we there yet?" at the top, and then fill in sassy things at the bottom.  Because this chart feels sassy to me, even though I get it.

I'm bracing myself for another three hours, when they come collect us for the x-ray.  Bug is pissed as hell that she has to be laid down on the x-ray table.  But they get the pictures, and we head back.

Then blood work comes.  UGH.  I dread this.  They let me hold her, but we are in this horribly awkward position.  I'm surprised she allows us to stay like this.  She goes for her arm first.  The first thing I realize as I'm gripping Bug is how unbelievably STRONGER she is than the last time we did this, about six months ago.  Like it is taking up a LOT of effort to keep her still, and I'm sort of failing at it.  She is also jumping around at the needle, twisting and turning in pain, which she never did before.  It's pretty much as awful as it gets.  Finally we give up on the arm.  She is crying so hard I was convinced she was going to vomit all over me.  She calms down ever so slightly, and they do her right hand next.  This one goes a bit better, and then we're done (whew).  I'm sure in her head she's thinking to herself, What the HELL WAS THAT, MOM?  WHERE WERE YOU ON THAT ONE?

She eventually calms down and, it seems, finally realizes that she has the maximum amount of Motrin and Tylenol in her body and goes bonkers.  We're singing, we're (trying to) dance, we're drawing with the chalk, we're talking, on and on.  Nurse comes back and says that her blood work is not alarming, and her x-rays are negative.  Woo-hoo!  We are to follow-up with primary care on Monday.  We are sent home.  It's after 10.

Bug blabs ON AND ON the whole ride home.  Somehow, she goes to bed.

The next morning, she has a fever of 103.  More ibuprofen.  The best appointment I can get with ped is 3:30 (other options were 1:45 and 2:30, which are during nap).  I hate the doctors out here.

We hang out at home most of the morning.  Her fever FINALLY goes down to the 101 range two hours after first dose.  She picks at her lunch and goes down for her nap.  We wake her up to get to the doctor on time.

It's a bad omen when there is just one empty seat out of 35 in the waiting room.  Ugh.  At this point, too, Bug can't even stand upright without falling over backward.  She seems horribly dizzy, or something.  It's picking away at my biggest fears, which usually have to do with her motor skills.  My brain is all, WHAT IF SHE NEVER RECOVERS??

After almost an hour's wait, we are called back to the room.  I'm expecting the doctor to walk in when we finally hear the knock on the door, and am startled to see this... kid instead.  I know that we go to UCSD peds, which is a teaching hospital, but I was not prepared for this.  He tells us he's a third year medical student.  I realize later that perhaps some of my surprise was that this was the first time I've ever experienced a medical "professional" who was obviously younger than I was.  I'm convinced there are stages to aging.  First, the Olympians are younger than you, then the crazy athletes who go pro out of high school, then most of the NCAA is, then most professional athletes.  You come to grips, naturally.  I was not expecting to see this guy.

So, I might have been a little... cold.  I started my story, and then he immediately asked me a question that made NO SENSE based on what I had just told him ten seconds earlier.  Any compassion I may have had for him in this "teaching" situation was completely gone.  I think he could tell.  Because when he went to examine Bug his hands were trembling.  Then he was looking in her eyes and instead of talking at a volume reasonable when standing less than a foot from someone's face, he was yelling.  I half expected his voice to crack.  It was painful for all involved.  Then he was checking Bug's reflexes while Bug sat half on my lap, and he had to touch my bare leg.  I purposefully did not move, because at this point I was enjoying watching him squirm.  I am a horrible person, I know, but my kid is sick and you are not getting us ANYWHERE.  I am convinced that being a mom, and also having a child who has had even a few medical crazy stories, automatically puts you at the level of, like, a second-year medical student.  I'm sure there are second-year medical students (or hell, doctors) who would disagree, but at this point I felt more competent than this kid, and this was his third year.

He left.  Then he came back with the doctor.  I realized as I told the doctor the story of the last 24 hours I was using a COMPLETELY different, much friendlier tone.  I actually felt weird about this.  Anyway.  Doctor said we still don't know the magic answer to what's causing her ataxia, or what's making it worse right now.  He guessed she had some kind of viral infection that was affecting her muscles.  We declined the blood draw for the muscle enzymes because the outcome would not have been any different if the test was positive or not -- still just fluids and rest.

Then the kid put icing on the cake when he came back with the lab orders (which they were giving us just to have on hand in case we changed our minds) and I asked him which lab was best for peds, since ALL of the local Quest Diagnostics labs were listed on the sheet.  "Oh, they're all good," he said.  "I mean, they've been really good when I've had to go, and kids can't be all that different."

Nope, I qualify as a third-year student.  That put me over the edge.  Drawing blood from a child is very different than an adult, and it takes skill.  We have been through it 2348729358729845 times and when there is even the smallest lapse in confidence on the part of the phlebotomist it is all over.

This morning I went back to work and Matt stayed home with her alone.  The bus ride into work was a particularly spectacular one, probably because it knew that I was going to have a bad day anyway.  There is this one stop -- if there are a bunch of people getting on there, I will be 10 minutes late, guaranteed.  If no one is there, then I am sometimes even a few minutes early.

There were an obscene amount of people getting on there today.  And when I say people, what I mean are homeless women.  There is a shelter near that stop, and despite my early bus riding hour of 6:45 AM, they are all up and moving on to another shelter on the route.  So they assemble themselves (but not, God forbid, until the bus actually arrives at the stop) and haul their usually quite large selves and their worldly possessions on the bus.  Today was extra complicated because there were more than usual, so the rolling carts and suitcases did not all want to fit in the limited space, and also because there were so many of them there was that much more chatting about what they were doing.  STOP TALKING ABOUT SITTING DOWN, AND JUST SIT DOWN.

There was a woman (I'm going to guess early 20s) I didn't recognize today with a baby.  Now, I see lots of homeless people and their babies (one, because it's San Diego and the homeless are OOC, and two, because the County social services are in the building I work in) but this duo was getting to me.  I don't know if it was because of my already vulnerable state about leaving my sick child, but I felt compelled to talk to her.  I talked myself out of it for most of the ride, and I assumed she was going to get off at 8th and Market where the rest of them get off to go to the other shelter.  But she didn't.  She got off at my stop.  So I walked up to her and I asked her if she needed clothes for her daughter.  She said yes, she did.  I asked her what size she was.  She told me 18 months.  She told me the baby was exhausted because they had to be up at 4:30.  I told her that I had a little girl who was two.  I said to her that if she rode this same bus at the same time tomorrow I'd bring clothes for the baby.  I asked her what size diapers her daughter wore, and she hesitated, and said 3 or 4.  Then she pulled down the sleeping baby's waistband and asked me rather urgently if I thought they looked like the right size.  There was something about the way that she asked me about the diaper size that got me.  I don't know how to explain it.  She said something about waiting for what I assume was some kind of check or money for diapers, but I couldn't understand what it was.

I don't know if we even have any 4s left.  But I do know that I have this gigantic box of Bug's clothes that I keep meaning to donate.  There's a little part of me that wonders about being swindled, and another part of me that has pre-conceived notions and negative thoughts about young mothers and homeless people.  But I couldn't ignore this little girl (whose name, I learned, is Emma).  So somehow today I feel like I adopted a homeless person and her baby.

I'll bring the clothes with me tomorrow and see if she's there.  I want to know the whole story before I give her the clothes.  Not that I won't give them to her if I don't like the story, but more that I just want to know.  I mean, I probably don't want to know, because really, you don't ever want to know the reality of these things, especially when kids are involved, but I will ask anyway.  We'll see.

Oh, and back to my baby.  She was running about 102 today, so I guess we're moving in the right direction.  She had more energy -- enough to be naughty -- but still was not acting totally like herself.  If she has a fever again tomorrow morning I am so SOL, because I will have to be home from work, and it will be ANOTHER unpaid day, because my job is dumb (ugh, don't get me started) and I have already blown through my four "floating holidays" when she got sick (and then got me sick) last time, so I have to take unpaid days off for illness.  But it is what it is.

I am so curious.  Do you think she'll be on the bus tomorrow??  We'll see.  My mind has been imagining things like actually sponsoring homeless people -- as if they would walk around carrying signs like those ADOPT-A-HIGHWAY ones.  "This arm and leg adopted by KEN'S BBQ AND GRILL."