Things We Have Done in the Past Week or So

Hmmm, lemme think.

Since Wednesday...

We puked. In mom's bed. On Dad's pillow. WHILE HE WAS USING IT.
We ran a fever.
We hung out all day in Number One's bed with him while HE had a fever, watching Spongebob and taking breaks for chicken soup and ice pops, and no one had a poke fight or called for Mommy ONCE, alarming Mommy greatly.
We coughed so much we puked some more...a lot...
We sneezed.
We ran another fever, and another, and another.
We went to the doctor, and were diagnosed with strep.
We took antibiotics.
And Tylenol. (GENERIC. Dear GODS, I KNOW ABOUT THE DAMN RECALL, DOC, THANK YOU! Sheesh.)
We complained of tongue pain and stopped eating.
We went back to the doctor 36 hours after the first visit and were diagnosed with Coxsackie virus for these:
















We took many more drugs, including some specially prepared concoction called "magic mouthwash".
We developed drug-butt from the all meds, creating some very.. um.. colorful diapers and bringing all potty training to a sudden and emphatic halt.
We went to the ER for the infected finger that the doctor had just looked at that morning but which had swelled alarmingly and was developing red streaks.


















We were diagnosed with an "herpetic whitlow".
We had a new doctor who questioned the Coxsackie diagnosis.
We Googled "Coxsackie" and "herpetic whitlow".
We got yet another prescription, which the pharmacy didn't want to fill because the ER wrote the Devil's nickname instead of her full name, and we all know there's a red-hot black market for antivirals around here, yo.

We wrote a demented blog post!

Nothing to report...

... but we took this today, and it occurred to me you might be interested, oh wonderful readers of the Blog That Shall Not Be Named.

I give you the Scourge of the Sentient Universe:
















Do not be fooled! She may be all sunshine and unicorn farts NOW, but just WAIT till she can read *shiver* or DRIVE *shudder* or TRAVEL INDEPENDENTLY *faint*

Don't say I didn't warn you!

Reassurance

So... here it is. Visit-with-the-Oncologist-for-no-reason-other-than-to-set-your-mind-at-ease day. Know what we're doing (besides swilling caffeine to combat the abject lack of sleep this whole episode has caused)? Nothing.

Not. A. Thing.

No appointment. No call from the oncologist's office to cancel the appointment, either, mind you - which could have had us driving an hour to find ourselves SOL. I'm fairly certain that you would have heard about whatever happened next on the six o'clock news, so let's all just be grateful for small favors and agree that from now on, I call to confirm if the drive takes more than 20 minutes. Even if they just called me the day before.

And the reschedule isn't for another 2 weeks. (Sleep? HAH! I Laugh in the face of rest and downtime!)

AND I have no idea - because the oncologist's office staff had no idea - what preliminary paperwork they need (copies of tests, etc) from the pediatrician, or indeed, what they had already received in advance of this appointment.

BUT - we should fax... whatever it is... to Rita at the following number.

(Let us all also bow our heads and pray grateful prayers to whatever minor gods control my pediatrician's medical group, because at least between the nurse and the medical records lady there, they were able to determine what should be sent, and set it aside for me to grab when I take Number Two to his earache follow-up appointment on Thursday.)

Now, I confess that perhaps even a crack team of medical coders and receptionists appearing in lab coats on my doorstep, charts in hand, clipboards at the ready, ballpoints cocked, armed with cellphones and dispositions tending toward ruthless tenacity would not satisfy me at this juncture. I mean, after all, this is my precious (fallen *coff*) angel's appointment we're discussing. With a jesus-fricking-christ-are-you-SERIOUS?? oncologist, for crying out loud.

So...

..reassuring?

Not so much.