Thursday night I noticed that Ava was sounding a little on the wheezy side. Since she wasn't running a fever, I chalked it up to allergies aggravated by the recent weather change, gave her a breathing treatment and didn't think much else of it. Friday morning she seemed fine, but by the time I got home from work Friday afternoon, it was apparent that she needed a trip to "Doc-in-a-box," better known to some as urgent care.
Long story short, we were there for two and a half hours, during which she started running a fever, declined into major puny-ness, and barfed all over the exam room. Is it sad that my one "victory" in all this was that I was just happy she didn't puke in my car? Anyhoo, Beaster swabbed negative for strep, RSV, and flu. But after the vomit-comet I was pretty adamant that she had some sort of strep-monger lurking around on top of whatever respiratory issues were going on and finally talked the nurse practitioner into treating her for strep. Just for safety. Once we were finally released, both of us exhausted, soaked from Piglet's spot bath (He was a casualty of the vomit comet, but she was hysterical without him in her arms. I relented and washed him off in the sink, but he remained sandwiched between us, and by the time we were ready to go, all three of us were reeking of soured dairy.), we got an appointment to come back Sunday morning, in case I hadn't had enough torture for one weekend.
That is one sick kid my friends.
Thankfully, the aggressive medical onslaught worked, and by Sunday Beaster was looking and feeling a lot more like her usual self.
Case in point.
So, here's to the official beginning of "sick-season," or fall as people without kids in daycare call it.
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