Ah, I leave for just a few days, and Martin gets diagnosed with the flu. It’s hitting him hard: Miss C says he looks like a zombie. Fortunately, his Mom doesn’t need surgery, but needs to stay with us until her leg is fully healed. Meanwhile, Amanda and the kids are doing good, although the baby has a fever now. Hard to be away, especially when the baby is ill!
Photo of my boys watching TV last weekend. To be clear, the baby is holding a part of a stacking toy. Ha!
It was another night of nurse duty for me. Fortunately, Jaz’s breathing is responding to the meds, but I feel so bad that the poor kid can’t just have a normal cold, and be soothed with some vapo-rub, chicken soup, and cherry-flavored cough syrup.
Getting my heavy-sleeper son to use his inhaler when his asthma flares up is impossible, so last night, I carried him into our room to use the nebulizer after he resisted my attempts to wake up and administer his puffs.
I propped him in my spot on the bed, got the nebulizer set up, turned it on, and watched the mist appear around his nose to ease his breathing. Once that started going, I went to get a glass of water, and returned to this.
My husband and son, holding hands, resting contently while the nebulizer hummed. Completely peaceful and serene. Continue reading →
Looks like I’m gonna be printing out “YEA, YOU CAME TO WORK SICK AS A DOG” certificates for most of my office because that’s the only reason I can fathom these people deciding to bring in the plague to everyone.
Anyone else have a significant other who absolutely refuses to take the necessary meds despite feeling miserable? I feel like making a certificate so that once he’s well again, I can present it and say, “LOOK! A certificate for your suffering. Clearly, this is what you wanted!”
I’m thinking I should make this certificate available for others, too. May even a create an “Amateur Nursing Achievement Award” for the one who suffered beside the patient.
Ahhhhhnnd we’re off! Like pumpkin spice and Ugg boots, it just wouldn’t be the fall season without our first school-borne illness. Pretty sure our asthmatic has the croup. Always a little tricky to pinpoint such things with him, but nevertheless, he’s got meds, he’s got blankets, he’s got a Mom with an ear for all things wheezy.
We are going to write under this picture in Junior’s baby book that he took out a two-year-old at the playground, and hurt his hand in the process. In reality, though, they gave him an IV after Martin brought the baby to the ER last Sunday morning because Junior’s cough did not sound right to me.
When it comes to the kids being sick, Martin and I don’t always see eye-to-eye on what to do about it. Some of our worst arguments have been a result of us butting heads over our kids’ health. He thinks I worry too much. I think he goes into denial that things can be that serious.
In this instance, when Martin went to bed last weekend, it wasn’t yet to that point. I, however, couldn’t fall asleep at all. Instead, I hovered over Junior like a moth, eventually just standing with him on my chest so he wouldn’t cough so much. Something just didn’t feel right to me, and I grew more anxious. Just as the sun began to rise over the horizon, I took Junior into the bathroom to run the hot water, hoping the steam would help his congestion. It got pretty warm in there, so I pulled off the baby’s onesie. That’s when I noticed the chest retractions. Continue reading →
The hospital where FestBaby will be born overlooks the city. It was created way back in the day by the German inventor/industrialist who was behind many of the early innovations that made the Mercedes-Benz such an awesome car. Continue reading →
This morning, I checked my blood, and then accidentally stabbed my eye with my mascara wand, and then impaled my hand on an open safety pin. Fitting, because today is the first day I get to inject myself with insulin because my pancreas is on strike. I got the Porsche of diabetes equipment, apparently, so it should be pretty easy and fast.
Martin went with me to see how it is done. He doesn’t know yet that I’m gonna make him do it.
(He may be on to me, though, as I’ve slipped and called him Nurse Ratched about three times already…)
The shot itself appears easier than the MOPP nerve-agent injection pens we got in the military, too. No need to bend the needle and hang it from my chest! Continue reading →