He was in the foyer, my sweet little baby, his face red and tear-stained. I scooped him into my arms and as I whispered soothing words into his ear, my mind was jolted into a heightened level of awareness - I was instantly aware of the heat radiating off of my baby's little body.
I brought him to the couch and rocked him. A few minutes later, my pulse was racing nearly as quickly as his - Nick's temperature was 103.
I have been consistently calm throughout illnesses and injuries. It typically isn't until after the cookie has crumbled and been mended that I allow myself to fall to pieces...in a quiet, dark room where I have nothing by my own thoughts. This moment in time was different.
We gave him a dose of Motrin and I rocked him to sleep. His little body began to cool - but it wasn't until he was clammy and his heart rate was back to normal that I allowed my eyes to close. I didn't sleep well - I tossed and turned and awakened repeatedly throughout the night. I couldn't relax knowing that my little Pickle was fighting a fever. I couldn't sleep soundly while as I feared whatever illness raged inside his little body.
A quick description of his symptoms - high fever, green boogies and body aches - and his pediatrician wanted to see him right away. So off to GBMC we went.
My poor little buddy barely had the energy to the open his eyes after I laid him down on the examination table. The nurses took pity on him - he didn't even need to go get a weight check. His temp was still up there - 101.9 - and they did a flu test right away. Within 10 minutes, our pediatrician confirmed what I had feared - Nicky had the flu.
Last winter was a terrible flu year. Everything I knew had the flu - friends. Pregnant friends. Babies of friends. Children of friends. But, thankfully, not my little family. We were spared by the Flu last year. It had devastated us enough the year before. This year, however, was going to be a different story.
I heard the doctor's voice as she talked about Tamiflu and the side effects and why she didn't want to prescribe it to Nick. She was under water in my ears as she discussed keeping him hydrated. I stared through her as she told me about how many of her patients who tested positive but had their vaccines were quick to rebound. The more she spoke, the louder my blood raged in my head and the tighter my chest felt. I told her I would keep her posted. I told her I knew what to do. I wrapped my sweet boy in a blanket and placed him in his stroller and wheeled him down to the car.
I strapped him in his car seat and kissed his sweet face and promised him whatever his little heart desired. "You snuggle me in you bed?" Yes, sweet boy. Of course I will.
And then I phoned a friend. I allowed my heart to explode and as the tears flowed down my cheeks, I told Teresa all about my sick buddy and the big, bad flu.
Fear is a powerful thing. And I was very very afraid. My heart continued to race as it did on January 31, 2017. Teresa reminded me of all the reasons why this moment in time was so very different than that dark day two years ago. She was right, of course, but there wouldn't be sleep for me until I knew for sure that my baby was going to be just fine.
A week has gone by - and he is more than on the mend. Our pediatrician was correct: the flu vaccine limited so many of the flu symptoms. He rebounded within two days and aside from a very brief relapse over the weekend he was essentially back to being our normal, wonderful, sweet and crazy toddler. But I'm still not really ok. Fear still grips me - and I don't know if I will ever return to my mindset of pre-01/31/2017...that headspace that called the Flu the Flu and didn't see it as a serial killer, armed and dangerous.
