I am waiting for a light to come crashing down on my head or to eat some bad chicken and become violently ill. Everyone else in my house this week is sick and/or has had to visit the doctor, so I am just waiting for my turn.
Hubby has a cold, which kept him out of church on Sunday, and also started physical therapy this week. They hooked up electrodes to his knee and shocked him. Supposedly this is going to help the swelling.
I stayed home from work on Tuesday because peanut has a cold. It's her first time being sick and I hate having to leave her. She is still too young to take medicine so there isn't much we can do for her. She is such a good-natured little girl, however, and is still happy as a clam, even though she is all stuffed up. She is not sleeping that well, however. She's been up until the wee hours of the morning every night this week. This has made it pretty difficult for me to get to work on time. When I was home on Tuesday, I picked the boy up from school. When I told him I had stayed home because peanut was sick, he started bawling. "I don't want my sister to die!" he wailed. I don't know what gave him the impression there was any danger of this, but I let him know that was not the case. He kept crying all the way home, though, and said, "well, I still don't want her to be sick. That makes me sad." Isn't he a sweetie pie?
The boy has had a rash for months. We took him to the doctor about it in the fall and she said it was viral and would go away in about six to eight weeks. About 14 weeks later, he still has the rash. So we're taking him back to the doctor today. We also are getting a report from his teacher about his behavior in school for the pediatrician to look at and see if there is something going on with him physically that is causing his behavior problems. I hope no one suggests ritalin, because I may have to throw a major fit.
It seems the boy couldn't wait to see a doctor, however. Last night, he tripped running up the two stairs to the kitchen, hit his head on the dining room table bench and got a pretty deep gash directly above his right eye. He was bleeding a lot -- which is always a scary sight -- and crying as badly as I have ever heard him cry. He was screaming, "Am I going to die? I don't want to die!" (I don't know what his thing is with death lately. No one we know has died for quite some time, so it's a little strange to me.) I told him he wasn't going to die and that head wounds just bleed a lot, which makes them seem worse than they really are, but he was still extremely concerned. Then he said, "this is the biggest problem I've ever had." I was trying not to laugh, but he was making it pretty hard.
We then got to spend 3 and a half hours at the hospital. I wanted to look at his cut when we were at home, but my husband wouldn't let me. I guess he didn't think I could handle it. So when the doctor finally came to work on the boy's head, I saw the damage. Well, I didn't faint or anything, but I probably shouldn't have looked at it. It was much deeper than I was expecting it to be and even though I knew my sweetie would be fine, I had to look away. My poor baby. He took his stitches pretty bravely and went right to bed when we finally got home at 1 in the morning. He is going to have matching scars on each side of his head, having had stitches on the opposite side three years ago.
It's nothing but fun and adventure at our house. The only question is, how will I get in on this action?
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