A Tale of Woe from a Dog-Faced Veteran of the Toddler-Care Trenches
Colds are commonplace, that much we know. Pray tell, how easy life would be if that were the only common sickness we pappys had to confront.
Want to strike fear into the hearts of even the bravest toddler-fathers? Just mention the term flu season to a crowd of daddies. Watch them scatter and duck like cowards in retreat, hiding under desks and behind plants, wailing dire warnings such as, "Incoming!" and "Fire in the Hole!" and "Hit the Deck!" and "The Redcoats are Coming!"
If you announce in a loud voice, False Alarm! or All Clear! most of the rehabilitated vets will come out of hiding and even carry on a conversation, if your questioning is gentle and non-threatening.One weathered-looking dad with a tick in his cheek and a limp to his gait even agreed to have his recollections recorded if we could grant him anonymity.
Here's what the poor guy had to say...
Simon (not his real name) speaks—
"It was last winter; Sarah was two-and-a-half. Mommy was visiting her mother in the country. Friday night, we shared pizza in the breakfast nook—everything was fine. Then Sarah coughed and said her throat hurt.
"Twoat hoit, Dadd-ee. Not swawwoe." She looked up at me with wide blue eyes, pinched her neck and grimaced.
I picked her up and sat her on the kitchen counter. I touched her forehead with the back of my hand and felt the warmth. I noticed her flushed, pink cheeks and ran for the digital thermometer. It took me several squirming minutes to keep it under her tongue long enough to get a reading.
100.5 degrees.
The freezer held a few banana popsicles. I got one and broke it in half and gave it to my little girl.
"Hold it over the sink," I said.
"I achy, too, Dadd-ee." Sarah yawned and rubbed her eye with one hand, popsicle tipping and dripping in the other.
Have you ever thought about how this stuff always happens when you're totally unprepared? I felt like a grunt sitting in a foxhole, under fire, but with very little ammunition. But at least I had a few more popsicles.
I also had Children's Motrin and frozen orange juice. I dispensed the former and mixed up the latter. Before I gave her the O.J., it was time to check her temperature again.
102.
My wife had taught me about keeping a chart. She told me it's just like in the birthing suite when you're timing the contractions. Get the reading, then write it down.
Right. The next number I wrote? 102.5.
By the time the doctor called back it was 103 degrees. He told me to keep doing what I was doing. If the fever hadn't gone down by tomorrow afternoon, he'd call in an anti-viral prescription.
Back at work, I tried to concentrate, but couldn't. My boss sent me to the clinic, but I caught a different strain of flu from a fellow employee and missed another 10 days of work.
I lost my job. My wife divorced me. Because I'm unemployed, the judge gave Sarah's mother sole custody.
My ex-wife won't let Sarah see me because she's afraid our little girl will get sick again. I live with my mother now. She's been very good to me (Simon sighs.) I plan to get back on my feet again, real soon.
I just have this overwhelming fear of touching doorknobs. It makes finding a job very difficult...
After your experience, would you have any specific advice for our readers?
Simon: Get your toddler's flu shot in October. Every year they say it's a different strain. It might not help, but it might.
Anything else before you go?
Simon (limping away, face twitching): Stock your pantry like it's a bomb shelter. Stock your medicine cabinet like it's a hospital. Don't let your child out of the house from November to April. Don't let your wife go away—ever. Keep your strength up...don't let the evil virus get you down. Don't give up...never give in. Don't let the flu bug ruin your life forever.
Simon, thank you.
Simon
(shuffling off):
Sure.
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Simon Says: Beware of the Bug!
Now Sarah had chills and aches, so I wrapped her up and held her. In between, I kept plying her with fruit juices. We went to the potty eight times before bedtime.
The Motrin kept the fever at 103 or below. Grateful, I decided to sleep on the rug by her crib. At least I tried to. Sarah kept waking up and crying...her throat hurt, her tummy hurt, her head hurt. I gave her a sippy cup with more juice, but the chills came back and her hands shook so badly she couldn't hold it.
I picked her up, held her in the rocking chair and held the cup so she could drink. Somehow, we went to sleep in that position, with the sippy cup oozing cranberry juice over the pocket of my white dress shirt.
Next morning, fever the same, we woke the doc early and headed for the drug store. It would take the anti-viral drugs some time to take effect. In the meantime, I made Jell-o. Unfortunately, Sarah's headache, throat ache and chills got worse.
She spent most of midday Saturday leaning over a puke pan and crying. We called Mommy and she told us what a good job we were doing, helping each other feel better when times were tough. We said thanks, but we have to go now.
Uh-huh. Go is right.
The diarrhea hit soon after. The fever spiked along late afternoon. I kept forcing the liquids and Sarah kept sending them back out, top to bottom. I couldn't keep up with the mess because my first job was to keep her comfortable. At least, that was the goal. The mess was spreading room to room, bath to bed to den. The place looked like hell—but Sarah and I looked worse.
Kept checking the temp. It wasn't getting any better, but it wasn't getting any worse. 102-103. I took that as a positive, plus Sarah's stomach eased up on her, even if the aches and chills didn't.
We spent the night again in the rocking chair, together with the sippy cup dribbles and caking diarrhea.
By morning, the fever had eased a notch or two. By early afternoon, Sarah kept down some soup and Jell-o and I think she even smiled once. Around 3:00, Mommy walked in the front door and I smiled too. Then I went to the bathroom, looked in the mirror and practically scared myself. I looked like a bearded scarecrow who lived in a garbage dump.
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