Wow... so much to catch up on!
Dex has a pretty bad throat infection, that's the big one. He came down with a high fever sometime between Friday night and Saturday morning, which Amy and I nursed with an abundance of hand-wringing, concerned stares, lots of fruit juice and some Tylenol to bring down the fever. He was burning up when he stumbled into bed with us Tuesday morning (day four), so I stayed home with the baby while Amy took the lad into the hospital.
About six hours later they came home after being told it might be mild pneumonia, but it was kinda-sorta inconclusive, so Amy was told to keep working to bring the fever down and take the boy back in if anything took a turn for the worse. Thanks for coming in.
Wednesday morning (day five) I made it into work, but wasn't plodding away for more than half an hour before my concerned wife called me at my desk and summoned me home for an encore performance of Tuesday's main act. It seems that another spike in the fever combined with piteous complaints of body aches drove my wife's maternal instinct into the red zone. And really, can you blame her? What would you do faced with a three year-old, body burning up, his eyes welling alligator tears, bottom lip pouty and quivering, and saying, "My tummy hurts, Mommy," with a look that makes clear his expectation for you to make it all better, right now?
There is no heart hard enough that wouldn't quake in that scenario. (Actually, I'm sure there are, but I don't want to meet them.)
New prognosis: throat infection, which is causing all the boy's grief. The only thing that wasn't checked the previous day at the hospital was his throat. They went to the trouble of taking pee samples and a couple chest X-rays, but never bothered to shove a popsicle stick into his mouth for five seconds. Go figger. A few days worth of antibiotics prescribed and he should be back to his regular self.
More later, I'm sure, but work has sort of suffered these past two days, and I must now get a round tuit.
