Thursday, October 19, 2006
A scout is alway prepared ...
You know it's that time of year when the Day Care Influenza starts to rear it's ugly head. At about 1515 hours, the Mrs gives me a tingle on the mental interconnect. Those cybernetic implants are pretty nifty, but all the EMF and RF radiation leaks in the lab make a clear channel hard to maintain. The call, it seems, was an effort to relay a message that Jake was running a fever. But of course! It's the first day of his swim lessons. She was going to set up an appointment with our battalion of pediatricians and would call me right back. Somehow, she manages to get service from various 'appointment required' offices at a mere growl. Must be the "don't mess with momma bear" thing. All is seem to get is derisive laughs. Thinking about that, I wondered why the Day Care/ReEducation Camp never calls me about this stuff. I AM the parent who drops off and picks up the Tyrants. I'll have to drop an anvil on their heads one of these days.
So, we are at the doctor's office and the waiting room is PACKED. Not a seat to be found and most of the seats are occupied by the parents. No room for a very feverish and child, languishing in my arms. All I need now is for some inn-keep to come out and tell me there is no more room, that I should go to the manger down the street. So I cradle my dearest son in my arms and wait ... and wait ... and wait. My focus is on him so Alexis is wreaking havoc like there is no tomorrow. Targets of opportunity abound. And then, Jake tells me he needs to go to the bathroom to throw up. Okay, you bet. Usually, he just wants to spot in the toilet, so I humor him and stride over to the restroom door. Locked. Ummm, ok. I set Jake down and tell him to wait while I get the key from the receptionist. She ignores me while typing away at her console. Alexis flits about the room, getting underfoot as only a 4 year old can. As I desperately, but politely try to attract attention (I'm getting to the point of growling "HEY, YOU, OVER HERE!"), Jake begins exorcising his last meal from his gullet. On the Bathroom door, floor, coat ... and it is voluminous. Apparently he was not digesting anything since his body systems were in revolt. Now I shout at the oblivious attendant "HEY! My son is vomiting in your waiting room full of children because we cannot get into the bathroom!" She gives me an entirely too vapid glance and then scurries off to the bowels of the office. I dart off to aid my son who is continuing to seriously get into vomiting. A woman ... a mother ... near-by is consoling him and asking if he is feeling better. Nice enough woman, she has been in this predicament before obviously. The quantity and volume of semi-digested matter is rising to about ankle level when an office assistant comes out with a spray bottle and a handful of paper towels. Yeah, and Noah brought only a life preserver ... it ain't going to help lady. I run back to the front desk and say as best I can without snarky sarcasm "Can I please have the key to the bathroom so my son can finish vomiting in a toilet instead of your floor?" She torpidly replies, "Oh, we don't have a key. Sorry." Say what wha? Okay, I'm not going to hammer on her about this because I KNOW they have a key to this room, I've used it before. They will just have to call FEMA to mop up the mess when the levies break and millions of deciliters of bile mixed with putrid milk start pouring into the examination rooms. Enjoy!
An hour later, we are admitted to one of the examination rooms not yet submerged. Within minutes, we are attended to by a physician. AMAZING! He is a very personable chap and we talk about where we all come from, live and our professions. His is a bit obvious but his predilection for all things technical is a focal point of our discussions. Turns out he is just as much a tech-head as the Genius Level Mrs and I. Well then, this could be a wonderful relationship of barter opportunities here! We eventually get down to the matter at hand: Jake's malaise. The Doc peeks in his ears ... nope. Look at his throat ... hmmm. Swab the back of the throat, Jake gags ... but no spewing forth of ichorous fluids. Doc takes swab, puts it into a tiny well situated on a strip of plastic and within minutes, a diagnosis: Streptococcus. Urk. PROGNOSTICATION: one week from this evaluation, I will have strep. The test is actually quite fascinating. It's like an ept so type test ... amazing. We used to have to wait for days for this kind of diagnosis back in the old days. You know, the OLD days ... the 1900's. Yep, back in 1996, we had to bang two rocks together for entertainment. Them were good times.
Jake does not go to swimming lessons which, at first, seems like a boon to Alexis ... till she learns that not only am I not swimming with her, but she will need to swim in the Big Pool with the icebergs and STRANGE MALE INSTRUCTORS!!! She would tolerate girls ... even Ivan with his thin covering of facial hair ... but not these fellows. It only took me about 10 minutes to convince her to get in and start the 40 minute lesson ... and then another 5 minutes of cajoling to keep her going for the last 10 minutes. She did well, but she needs her brother or daddy to be there or she gets a bit recalcitrant. That's my girl, impudent rebel cum petulant autocrat.[+/-] show/hide the rest of this post
Oh, and gasoline is now $2.12USD/gal.
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