I got a call yesterday from the school. Max had a headache and a fever. I'm on my way. So, longer story less long, he had a huge fever all night. We made it through the night.
By morning I wake up and smell the Strep Stench. If you've had strep throat in your home before, you know there's a very distinct smell involved. If you've had it in your throat, you know the taste. It's gross, I know. But it's there. We get the flashlight, and behold, puss pockets. Nice. Good thing I had the genius insight to make an appointment for today. Yay me! I remind Ricardo we have an appointment and at some point he says to me, "Make sure he gets the shot, okay?"
We like the shot because I'm not great at keeping up with giving the medicine consistently. I never could remember to take my pill either. That's why I have my tubes tied. I mean if the desperation of simply keeping up with the children I have and not throwing any more into the crazy mix isn't enough to keep me taking a tiny little pill once a day - every day... And when the kids are on antibiotics, it's for 10 days. By day 2 they are completely rehabilitated and I forget to give them their meds because the fever or barfing isn't around to remind me. So it's my fault we get the shot, but I can't remember to give them the meds, okay? Geesh.
We go to the doctor. Max was looking forward to seeing Dr. B, because she just had a baby. There wasn't much time for chit chat after the strep test came back positive. Dr. B asks if we want the shot or the prescription. And in a split second, because the kid just looks awful and defeated already, I think to just say, "Prescription." But in another split second I think to give it one more push for the shot and tell Max,
"You can choose. Daddy wants you to get the shot." I told him that not to reprieve myself from the crime that was about to ensue, but to motivate him (fine, manipulate him.) And I'm ashamed to say, it worked. As soon as he heard, "Daddy wants you to..." his face lit up and he said, "Okay, I'll get the shot." Schocked, Dr. B went to get the nurse to administer the shot, because when you've paid off all those student loans to be a doctor, you don't have to be the bad guy and give the shots anymore. Clearly it's what separates a doctor from a nurse.
The problem with the next 5-10 minutes is they took too long. They gave Max ample time to reconsider. I tried to reassure him that it would be over in just a second and then we wouldn't have to worry about it. I tried soothing. I tried explaining. I tried distracting. Where they heck are they? I'm out of ideas! I finally got him calmed down, and then the attack came in.
I think I said this the last time one of my kids got a shot, "I WILL NOT DO THIS AGAIN." So, now it's in writing, and hopefully, I'll have the same ample time to review before the ladies with a mission, also known as nurses, come in with the six foot long needle. Max tried to blend in with the wall. It took two of us to get him on the table. I had to lay over him and hold his entire body down while another nurse held his legs and feet from kicking while the other nurse - the very effn slow nurse- took her sweet ass time getting the shot in. This time it was longer. I'm guessing a full minute. I'm tired and worn out from holding him down while I stared at his very impressive red, gigantically swollen and puss-pocket infested tonsils while they vibrated from the intensity of his screams. It was loud, pathetic, and reminded me of some submerging therapy treatment I've seen on a Law & Order episode. Horrific.
I will not do this again. I will not do this again. I will not do this again. That was all I could think and say to myself to comfort myself. Comforting Max was not even an option. He was rightfully pissed off. I mean, PISSED OFF. They gave him a stupid Sesame Street bandaid and told me his leg would be SORE FOR SEVERAL DAYS AND TO PUT AN ICE PACK ON IT FOR THE NEXT 24 HOURS! ARE YOU KIDDING ME!? What the hell kind of shot did you just give him?!
I think since he's 6 years old now, and the size of an 8 year old, that maybe he qualifies for some larger gauged needle with thicker penicillin in it. Who knows. All I know is that the tears are now forming in my eyes and the large lump in my throat when finally, Max lets me hold him, and he clings to me. I carried him out of the office with about 10 people and 4 kids glaring at me while I carried him out.
We left there and went straight to pick up Ricardo for lunch. Whatever this kid wanted, he was getting. I would have let him test drive a car if he'd mentioned it. As we pulled out of the parking lot I said,
"You mad at me,baby?"
He nodded.
"Well, that's ok. Will you let me know when you're not mad at me anymore?"
He nodded.
About 5 minutes later, before we got to Ricardo's office, Max finally breaks the silence with,
"I'm not mad at you, Mom. I'm mad at Dad, cuz this was his idea."
I hate that for Ricardo. But for me, it was finally a moment when mommy wasn't the bad guy and in complete context. I will never do that again. I will never do that again. I will never do that again.
That's how I roll.
Max is feeling much better already tonight, and he looked up at me and said "My leg still hurts, but I'm not mad at you any more" He's the sweetest boy ever.
I seem to remember holding you down AND assisting the doctor because the nurse almost fainted. Finally got you stitched up. That was a bad gash on your leg.
Oh that poor, sweet, long eyelashed boy!! I know that shot. For adults it is like a sword with medicine in it. Your rear hurts more than your throat does. It does kick in nice and fast and it is low maintenence. But I'm an adult. I think that most Mom's wish that the Dad's took the kids in for vaccinations, Dental visits and shots. It is hard to do and then they would feel some of that angst and pain we feel when we physically restrain our children while telling them that it is for their own good. :) I'm glad he is feeling better!