Boo, tonsils
May. 12th, 2005 02:07 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
radegundMy poor unfortunate baby has tonsillitis, or thereabouts. The creche phoned me at noon yesterday to say he had a temperature of 102 and could they give him some Calpol. I'd already arranged to pick him up at lunchtime and bring him for his developmental checkup (he was too sick to go, in the event), and when I arrived to collect him the temperature hadn't gone down. He was sitting on a beanbag in the corner, gamely but listlessly waving a rattle, and when he saw me he managed a very small smile.
Niall was working from home, as it happened. We got a doctor to come to the house (my GP having had the gall to be on holiday yesterday), who didn't speak particularly good English, but who exclaimed at the offending tonsils and prescribed antibiotics. On the doctor's advice, we held off on administering them until today in case the throat got better of its own accord, because boo! antibiotics. He's having them, though, because he's not better (despite promising signs last night), and however questionable antibiotics may be in the grander scheme of things, they'll clear the symptoms. It's truly, truly horrible to see my beautiful son so miserable, yelling himself hoarse because his throat hurts, barely even able to nurse because it's sore to swallow. He's asleep now, thankfully.
When the creche person told me Oisín had a temperature my reaction was striking. I instantly launched into a full-blown fight-or-flight response: dry mouth, adrenaline whirlpool, inability to return my focus to work, a strong desire to shrink myself down to a molecular scale, get in there with my nano-cleavers and start doing some DAMAGE to whatever nasty fuckers had had the temerity to attack my child. The maternal instinct throwing its weight around, I suppose you'd have to say. I hate to think what I'd be like if he were actually at any non-negligible risk.
And you know the really annoying thing, from a selfish and petty perspective? I'd booked today as a holiday, because I'm stressed out of my head at the moment and I wanted to be good to myself and not push myself too hard. A "me day", I'd planned. Nice timing, microbe bastards.
Niall was working from home, as it happened. We got a doctor to come to the house (my GP having had the gall to be on holiday yesterday), who didn't speak particularly good English, but who exclaimed at the offending tonsils and prescribed antibiotics. On the doctor's advice, we held off on administering them until today in case the throat got better of its own accord, because boo! antibiotics. He's having them, though, because he's not better (despite promising signs last night), and however questionable antibiotics may be in the grander scheme of things, they'll clear the symptoms. It's truly, truly horrible to see my beautiful son so miserable, yelling himself hoarse because his throat hurts, barely even able to nurse because it's sore to swallow. He's asleep now, thankfully.
When the creche person told me Oisín had a temperature my reaction was striking. I instantly launched into a full-blown fight-or-flight response: dry mouth, adrenaline whirlpool, inability to return my focus to work, a strong desire to shrink myself down to a molecular scale, get in there with my nano-cleavers and start doing some DAMAGE to whatever nasty fuckers had had the temerity to attack my child. The maternal instinct throwing its weight around, I suppose you'd have to say. I hate to think what I'd be like if he were actually at any non-negligible risk.
And you know the really annoying thing, from a selfish and petty perspective? I'd booked today as a holiday, because I'm stressed out of my head at the moment and I wanted to be good to myself and not push myself too hard. A "me day", I'd planned. Nice timing, microbe bastards.
