My poor boy, he is having a rough time both physically and emotionally. He lost his ever loving mind after his first IV failed just an hour after they put it in. He just lost it. There has been much screaming and violence. (on his part, not mine). They absolutely cannot get his meds straight, which is just hard on all of us. He had an instant allergic reaction to his stand by antibiotic, Naphacillin. (I like the way that sounds so mild, cause it involved screaming it burns, it burns and clawing wildly at his arm in a manner reminiscent of Gollum reacting to the Elven rope.) Because he is VERY allergic to the other med they want to use, we are switching to Vanco. Yikes! The adventure continues.
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2 Kids Who Want To Play:
Oh, how awful. The poor kid. The allergic reaction sounds awful. Crappy crap crap.
A true confession: through this recent MRSA debacle in my own household I have had my head up my arse for a bit. I just a few days ago was lying around feeling EXCEPTIONALLY sorry for myself, skin peeling from similar reaction as Little Man's to incorrect drug administration, thinking "why hasn't Jo at least called my voicemail, and said 'it's not you it's me, and my life, but I'm thinking of you and yours' message, I mean hey my life sucks but I still stalk her ruthlessly!" I forget too often that while you and I share the under-vaunted glory of the judges' booth in The Vile Olympics, I occasionally get little hospital-vacations where people are compelled to give me a frigging break and you are not. And also that I should stop pouting about all the desquamation (and it was your edumacaytional influence that taught me the term) with my specialists and whining about the exfoliation that lay ahead, because at least I was able to communicate in mutually-understood terms the discomfort of the reaction from within instants of the entire debacle's inception. Not that it ultimately won me anything since my physician ignored it UNTIL I noticed the peeling and used my Word Of The Week From Jo with my ID doc two days later tp Club Med,where at least I was capable not only of ringing the nurse and requesting some of the Atarax, xanax, and topical antihystamine I knew dang well my ID guy's partner had put into my standing P.O. orders, but also (as an adult perfectly capable of walking, IV trees in-tow, out of my my isolation pod with a mask on and making moon eyes at them over the counter of the nurses' station until they jolly well pulled it up and doled it out) with a break from it all, after duly medicated, when I spent the next week mostly sleeping and was starting to check messages and e-mail, etc. And now I am reminded once more that you don't get to sleep for a week ever, and while MRSA certainly sucks, a week of sleep for someone with three small children of varying special needs is a week of sleep, and hey, whoo sleep at least! I'm sorry I forgot that you don't even get the week of sleep as an occasional windfall. You might be healthier, but I bet I'm less sleep-deprived. Maybe we're mentally meet in the middle someday and chew the fat? Was reminded when I saw "vanc." Which has always been very kind to me, and hopefully was to Little Man Too (I am reading this, obviously, serially and, having no mutual friends to keep me posted, have no idea what's going on past this one, so I'll go back to reading now).
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