Strep 2014: CANCELED UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE*
March 17, 2014
Snow day number four hojillion and three. I may or may not be typing this while hiding under my desk. This winter will never end. This winter will never end. This winter can go kick itself in the goddamn balls.
Ike is eating Second Breakfast, while also preparing for Elevensies. So far he's eaten two blueberry waffles, three bowls of cereal, two oranges, seven strawberries, one piece of turkey bacon, two cups of milk and remains extremely displeased at my refusal of his request for chicken nuggets. I can literally hear him outgrowing his clothing as we speak.
Noah and Ezra are both in my bed, literally fighting like two pigs under a blanket. There's a lot of thrashing and screaming.
What there is NOT, at least, is a lot of strep throat, despite my Instagrammed claims to the contrary. Turns out that I am a big fat lying liar, and should be banned from the Internet for my crimes.
Yesterday, Ezra woke up complaining of a stomachache. And a fingerache. And a general all-over kind of ache. He insisted his throat felt fine, but still refused to eat anything for breakfast. He looked pale and glassy-eyed, and it was pretty much a dead ringer for Noah's first day of strep, right before the fever started. After resting his head on the counter for awhile, he wandered upstairs and put himself to bed. He was sound asleep within minutes.
So...strep, right? About five days after Noah's symptoms started? Basically complaining of the exact same vague variety of things? Refusing to eat, voluntarily sleeping? I don't even need to WebMD any of that shit. Look who's a big hot shot strep expert over here, all of a sudden!
I figured I'd let him take a nap and then we'd go to urgent care for a prescription, as he'd surely start running a fever soon and compaining about his throat.
He woke up a couple hours later and was still not running a fever. Despite his insistence that his throat didn't hurt, I aimed a flashlight at the back of his throat and saw nothing but a perfectly healthy uvula. But he was still white as a sheet and complaining of a stomachache. He refused an offer of pizza for lunch AND THEN HE WENT BACK TO BED.
So on the one hand, it felt maybe a little rash to drag him somewhere for a strep test while we were obviously missing every major symptom of strep. But clearly this was...something? An extra slow-moving strain that would SURELY manifest at some point, so wouldn't it be best to be proactive and get him on the antibiotic ASAP so he'd only miss one day of school instead of two, and spare him an extra night of suffering? And with snow in the forecast again, who knows if the pediatrician's office will even open on time tomorrow.
(Take that last paragraph and repeat it 300 dozen times, and now you have an accurate picture of every single circular conversation Jason and I had yesterday. We were like the seagulls in Finding Nemo. Strep? Not strep? Strep. Strep? Streppy strep strep?)
I was hovering over Ezra's bed, trying to recheck his perfect temperature for the millionth time, when he suddenly sat up, and — after looking at me with a vaguely concerned face — casually and daintily vomited on his comforter.
"I threw up," he observed, very matter-of-factly.
"You did," I agreed.
AND THEN HE WAS FINE. THE END.
(No. Seriously. He jumped out of bed and went to go play. He did not barf again and ate a huge dinner and two helpings of dessert. He is now ice-skating down the hallway in his socks and Dr. Suess pajamas. Once again, I have been outsmarted by my children and reminded that I know nothing about anything.)
*And once again, I have probably surely jinxed myself here.