Just look at this face, doesn't it just ooze heartache? This was taken a moment before we headed to the Pediatrician's office today.
Me: Kate, smile.
Kate: I can't.
Me: Smile Kate, show the camera your sick face.
Kate: Mom, I can't.
(I think she looks concerned that I am even asking)
Within moments, the Pediatrician reviewed her symptoms and promptly diagnosed her with Rotavirus. Right when I thought we were entering the safe zone (no fever, yay!), I was informed that as long as she is symptomatic, she is still contagious. Apparently we should be thrilled to see it run its course in seven days. Yes, that means three more days (if we are lucky) of pure hell. Since my luck errs on the side of NON-EXISTANT, I am guessing we will be on the 10-day plan.
There is no medicine, nor any magic cure. The only thing we can control is trying to stave off dehydration, which has been proving ineffably difficult. The Pediatrician offered many suggestions of things to try to hydrate Kate, which is great in theory, but not so helpful when the kid refuses to eat or drink. Each attempt to bring liquids to her mouth resulted in a screech, followed by the statement, “My belly huuuuuuuuuuuuuuuurts. I’ll try it later.” Yes, yes, that was the strange sound you heard when you were busy attending to your afternoon affairs. I am sure it registered on the Richter Scale.
Leaving the Pediatricians office, I had to directive to proceed to the ER if Kate did not pee by 10:00 p.m. tonight. Do not pass go, do not collect $200. Since I was flying solo in the parent world, and operating on a collective 10 hours of sleep over the past three days, the last thing I was signing up for was a trip to the ER. I was going to make that kid drink, even if it sucked the life out of me.
Me: Kate, just have a tiny sip.
Me: Kate, just one little drink.
Kate: My belly hurts! I don’t want to! (insert earth shattering cries here)
Me: Kate, do you know what happens if you don’t drink?
Me: You have to go to the hospital.
Kate: I don’t want to drink any-ting. (in exasperation)
Me: Do you know what they will do at the hospital?
Me: They will give you a shot.
Kate: I’ll have a little drink of water.
And that would be how I avoided the ER tonight. Desperate times call for desperate measures. I threw my change in the cup labeled KATE’S FUTURE THERAPY FUND that has a permanent home on the kitchen counter.