Bittersweet

(Parenthood and pregnancy discussed.)

Night is the scariest time as a parent.

Let me back up.  We’re in H1N1 limbo-land right now.  I’m scheduled to be vaccinated this Thursday, and cannot WAIT to get that needle in my arm and start the rapid, unseen duplication of killer lymphocytes to defeat any H1N1 viruses that dare to come my way.  I don’t mean to be obsessed with this.  It’s just that I have a 3-year-old, and he’s like a sticky fly trap for germs.  And he’s sick again.

This time it hit on Sunday morning.  Sam had been a restless sleeper the night before, which we attributed to the Halloween parade the day before and the consumption of too much candy.  But when he wandered into our room in the morning, red-cheeked and warm, muttering, “I not feel good,” we knew he was sick.  Again.  Rewind two weeks ago for his first fever of the season, which in turn tripped my H1N1 alarm system, which in turn was a false alarm since his fever only last 24 hours. 

The problem with all kids’ illnesses (including the dreaded H1N1), is they all have the same inital presentation:  fever and yuckiness.  Common cold:  fever and yuckiness.  Seasonal influenza:  fever and yuckiness.  Ear infection:  well, you get the point.  Sometimes my son will just run a fever purely for recreational purposes, without any following verifiable illness at all!  So the struggle is, if you’re going to start anti-viral medication for the flu, you need to start it early on before you really get to see the actual illness pan out.  I could really go on forever about this, but it’s to no benefit.  It’s just how it is.   It just means that I bothered our wonderfully understanding pediatrician on Sunday morning with my concerns that, yet again, my son might have H1N1 due to a 103 fever and the fact that he requested to go back to bed at 9AM, and slept for 3 hours!

Long story a little bit shorter:  Sam started Tamiflu.

So most of the day Sunday I tried to keep my distance from Sam’s germs and wash my hands like crazy.  Then I realized that the fight was just futile, just the night before his fever, we shared a cup of ice water and too many kisses to count.   It’s no fun worrying about being pregnant and getting H1N1, but it’s worse not to get to comfort your sick kid. 

I hate when Sam is sick.

We have been so blessed that Sam is a generally healthy child.  Especially blessed since he was born a month early.  And let me tell you, we’ve had our fair share of illnesses:  double ear infections, roseola, croup, influenza, rotovirus, strep throat…but he’s never been hospitalized for anything.  We’ve never even had to take him to the ER but for an unfortunate accident while running with a plastic pipe in his mouth (I won’t go into the gory details of that one).  He doesn’t even tend to run very high fevers like some kiddos.  Maybe 104 with the flu was his highest…might’ve only been in the 103’s though.

I CLEARLY remember the first time Sam ran a fever of significance.  Sam was 4 months old, and we were showing him off at a Christmas party…and he was NOT having it.  He was fussy, and restless, and spit up all over.  And his cheeks were very pink.  And he felt warm. 

Hubby and I took him home and ran right for the blue digital thermometer, incidentally enough, the one that actually had helped in his conception through years of my diligent charting.  Anyway, we watched in complete terror as it climbed to 102.5.

One-oh-two-point-five!

So, we did what any first-time parents would do, we first panicked and second called the nurses line and were calmed to know that, despite his fever, Sam was not showing any signs of needing emergency medical intervention.  But that night, as he slept right next to us, and I listened to every snorty pant he made, I had this terrible, helpless realization: 

They get sick, and there’s nothing you can do about it.

So that began the tally of sleep-deprived nights hushing raspy coughs, and waking him up to make sure he didn’t have a concussion after a header in the brick entry steps, and countless other illnesses and incidents.  All parents have them.  And in the dark, when the safety of the sun is gone, the vastness of the earth catches up with us, and we realize how vulnerable our children are.

Last night, my son started a sharp, barking cough that pained him deeply.   Though he tried to suppress it, the cough spilled unwilling out his mouth as he cried out in pain.  One of the only times I remember being sick as a kid, I became very ill with bronchitis, and I clearly remember that feeling of fire spreading through the branches of my lungs like fire.  I pictured this with every cough of his.  As I brought him back to our room to help calm him down (of course crying makes the coughing worse), he coughed so hard he threw up all over the carpet (though I have to say I’m the slightest bit proud that mid-vomit, I pivoted him toward the trash can beside the bed).

I took one whiff, abandoned my sick son and startled hubby, ran to the basement and got sick in the toilet.   Yeah, pregnancy has left my poor hubby to clean up vomit at least 3 times in the last month:

1.  The first H1N1 scare, where Sam lost it right after a dose of Tylenol.
2. After my son discovered that, although buttercream handsoap may smell like it’s ok to put on your toothbrush, well…it’s not.
3. The second H1N1 scare.

So hubby cleaned up the carpet (the carpet…ugh…it’s always got to be on the carpet, not some random shirt flung on the floor or the sheets on the bed or anything).  I rocked Sam and took his temp once again.  103.8…gulp. 

Did I mention I hate when Sam gets sick?

After some rocking and soothing, I finally got Sam back to sleep, this time with two pillows under his head to prop him up some.  I checked to make sure his lips weren’t bluish, and that he didn’t seem to be getting enough oxygen.  He seemed to be breathing fine, just burning up.

After a brief nap (for Sam not me), Sam was up with that wicked barking cough again.   It dawned on me at that moment that we should be like every other decent parent around and actually have a humidifier in our repertoire of remedies.  Instead, I took my sick little boy into the bathroom, turned on the shower, and sat on the toilet while the steam built up in the room to soothe his lungs.

And while he squirmed on my lap, I thought of the challenge of my two baking beans and how many more nights of crying and coughing and vomiting and steamy bathrooms were to come.  And I felt this odd mixture of worry and calm all at the same time.  Worry that my children are at the mercy of a fallen world.  And calm that all I had at that moment was my sweet son, shivering from the chills, looking at my concerned face and asking,

“Mommy, you not happy?”

“No, Buddy, Mommy’s sad that you’re sick.”

“Mommy’s sad?”

“I want just want you feel better.”

His little eyes, dulled with fever, lit up again.  “But Mommy, I not sick no more.  You happy now?”

What have I done to deserve such a gift as my son? 

“Yes, Sam.  I’m happy now.  You make me the happiest Mommy on earth.

*  *  *  *  *

Sigh.

And that’s the truth of it.