Under the weather
I absolutely detest when one or even both of my children are under the weather. Since my mom's death, I stress even more. I'm sure that will eventually go away....at least I hope so. I don't worry half as much about my oldest child...she's good at describing what is wrong. And visually, I can tell when she is ill. The youngest, well, he causes me great concern. Usually when he is ill, he goes at it full speed. The two are so very different.
The oldest suffered through ear infections, colds, fevers, etc. The youngest didn't run the gamut of usual stuff. He was alot healthier than his sister. But when he got sick, it was usually bad enough to warrant trips to the hospital. And he tends to "suck it up". He's quiet and he doesn't complain. I'm not quite clear about why he does that but I think it is a combination of not wanting to miss school/church/events and of being afraid of what might happen. He remembers hospital stays and breathing treatments and scary things like that. The unknown really bothers him. He has to know what will happen.
So when he started missing church, complaining about the pain and stiffness in his neck, asking TO GO TO THE DOCTOR, well, I figured I'd better have him checked out. At first, I imagined the worst. Meningitis. It's around, mostly in college students (at least what I have heard about on the news, etc). But it still is a concern. After I put him to bed, I pulled out the encyclopedias and started doing some research. I was relieved to note that severe vomiting was a symptom that seemed to appear before the neck stiffness. Good. At least that doesn't look like a big possibility. So this morning when he couldn't move enough to get dressed and he looked nothing like the cheerful boy I wake up to in the mornings, I was concerned. When I asked him if he thought a doctor visit might be necessary, he wanted to go. Alarm bells sounded inside my head. Hoping that he couldn't hear them, I said, all right. We'll go. Hmmm.......the boy wants to go to the doctor.....doesn't mind missing school.....has missed two days of church.....yup....something isn't right.
Knowing that this visit would cause him undue stress, I told him funny stories about when he was a little baby while we waited for the clinic to open. (the clinic being the fastest option for treatment) We laughed as I shared memories of his infancy. Kids do love to hear about themselves. And I found I love to remember those times.
The doctor did an examination, asked some questions and determined that it was all muscle tension. I did not fail to notice the tears in his eyes. That was the only thing that betrayed his level of pain.
His sleeping habits, video game playing, etc. had only made the stiffness worse. He prescribed several different remedies and we were sent on our way. I dropped him off at school, and we'd take care of him this weekend.
He's something else. I take my lead from him. I remember advice I was given when my daughter was a baby. I was told that when she fell or had an injury, if I didn't act like it was a big deal, she wouldn't either. That's good advice. And it is true. I hide my initial reaction and let them tell me how big a deal things are. It works. It also cuts out theatrics for the most part.
It has served us all well.
Over the years they have had their shots (without a fuss), emergency room visits, surgery, stitches, and broken bones and none of that involved being held down. Compare that to me at any given point in my life and they are wonderfully mature. When I had shots as a child, it took my mother, four nurses and a doctor to administer the shot. If I needed stitches, same thing. I had more than my share of Emergency Room visits that involved needles and stitches, and thankfully, no surgeries as a child. I'm a huge baby when it comes to stuff like that. I was determined that my children would not meet their health issues as I did. It has worked for the most part.
I also don't lie to my children about doctor visits. My mother used to do that to me. Of course, I understand her reasoning for it. I wasn't the best patient. I was pretty difficult to manage. She had her hands full. After the first several incidents, she always took reinforcements with her in order to help calm me down or keep me in place. For instance, doctors scared me. One of my first memories was of being in the hospital with the croup. I was in an oxygen tent and a crib that reminded me of a baby jail. They had to move me to my mother's room (she was in the hospital as well) because I was screaming so much.
Our doctor's office had a restroom that could only be reached through an exam room. So, I would tell her I had to go to the bathroom and then I'd promptly leave the doctor's office. Of course, being only about 4-5 years old, I went to the car. I was relatively easy to find. My brother came looking for me. After that, my mother specifically requested the exam room with the restroom attached so that I could no longer escape. And she always brought reinforcements to watch the door, just in case. Visits to the hospital required my mother pulling out the big guns. "Aunt" Norma Webb. I adored that woman and she could talk me into anything. When I needed to go to the ER, she'd swing by and pick Norma up and off we'd go. She made me laugh and my mom was not so stressed. And every trip to the hospital warranted a treat from McDonald's afterwards. My mom felt that that would help me be more willing to go to the hospital. It didn't help that but it did make me easier to manage afterwards.
But because I was so difficult, she would lie to me about going. She'd say ANYTHING to get me into the car. And that would work until we pulled up outside the office. Or even around the corner. My mother wasn't quite so clever. Her lies only worked a few times and she would have to think up another one. She'd lie about me having to get shots. She'd lie to me about it hurting. Shots always hurt! The only shot I didn't refuse was the shots I received after I was stung by a bee. I was severely allergic. Within 30 minutes I'd be so swollen and I'd be having trouble breathing. A bee sting meant an immediate trip to the hospital/doctor for a shot of Benadryl. And bee stings really hurt if you have an allergy to them. It took me years to figure that one out. They are extremely painful. I was usually stung on the foot. (I ran barefooted all the time) My foot would swell so you could hardly make out my toes. I was more than willing to have the shot that would save me from dying. That was serious stuff. My mother did teach me about the dangers so that I would always know what to do. As soon as I was stung, I was to drop to the ground and not get excited (that is hard to do for a child!). Someone was supposed to go tell someone right away. I was not to run or do anything. I followed her instructions to the letter.
I always knew, too, when I was seriously ill. My mother's face and actions told me EVERYTHING. So did my Dad. But he was always very loving and attentive anyway. He was harder to read when I was sick. But my mother betrayed everything she felt. She was an open book. The time I got blood poisoning, my mother got nice. WARNING BELLS! She was checking the red line that was running up my leg every few minutes. Feeding me information and signs to watch for when she wasn't in the room. Dad was checking me. She was bringing me things. She'd rub my temple. Asking me how I felt. She was loving.....and I'd heard them discussing things and my dad said he didn't want to lose me. Part of me didn't mind being hurt or ill because that was when she'd love me. Once I had a fever of 104.....she sat with me talking and playing cards so she could keep an eye on me and watch how I acted. She'd take my temperature often. Her forehead would be wrinkled with worry. She let me pick the cartoons that I wanted to watch. And I remember wanting to please her, I offered to let her watch her shows. I'd watch anything she wanted if it meant she'd be pleased with me.
As I got older, that set the precedent with us. If I was sick, her love would come out. And she'd love me and hold me and comfort me. Assure me things would be fine. I come to depend on that from her. It is one of the things I miss the most now that she is gone. Even a routine visit to the doctor, she'd want to hear about. Funny isn't it? She didn't care about me having a good life, she hated when good things happened to me, and begrudged me even a shopping trip with her. But the moment I hit the door of a doctor's office, she was there to offer comfort and love and concern. I'd oblige and let her know. When I moved to Oklahoma, I still called her because I found I needed that from her. It helped me find a closeness to her that I had always longed for. And when the kids were sick, she wanted to know. Or I'd call and ask her what a rash might be or ask her what to do for an ear ache (even though I already knew). I find myself still wanting to call her. I probably will always feel that need.
But I don't lie to the kids about the doctor. I also won't lie if something will hurt. I tell them what is going on and why so they understand, rather than fear the unknown. If I know I'll tell. If I don't, then I find out. It is right and fair. Although I had to endure lies, I'm grateful for them. They taught me a better way to parent my own children. God took them and turned them for good. As He does in all cases. Clouds ALWAYS have a silver lining. Something good ALWAYS comes of something bad. I'd rather face the truth than face the darkness of the unknown. I won't lie to protect myself. And my kids know I won't hide the truth. That's important.
The oldest suffered through ear infections, colds, fevers, etc. The youngest didn't run the gamut of usual stuff. He was alot healthier than his sister. But when he got sick, it was usually bad enough to warrant trips to the hospital. And he tends to "suck it up". He's quiet and he doesn't complain. I'm not quite clear about why he does that but I think it is a combination of not wanting to miss school/church/events and of being afraid of what might happen. He remembers hospital stays and breathing treatments and scary things like that. The unknown really bothers him. He has to know what will happen.
So when he started missing church, complaining about the pain and stiffness in his neck, asking TO GO TO THE DOCTOR, well, I figured I'd better have him checked out. At first, I imagined the worst. Meningitis. It's around, mostly in college students (at least what I have heard about on the news, etc). But it still is a concern. After I put him to bed, I pulled out the encyclopedias and started doing some research. I was relieved to note that severe vomiting was a symptom that seemed to appear before the neck stiffness. Good. At least that doesn't look like a big possibility. So this morning when he couldn't move enough to get dressed and he looked nothing like the cheerful boy I wake up to in the mornings, I was concerned. When I asked him if he thought a doctor visit might be necessary, he wanted to go. Alarm bells sounded inside my head. Hoping that he couldn't hear them, I said, all right. We'll go. Hmmm.......the boy wants to go to the doctor.....doesn't mind missing school.....has missed two days of church.....yup....something isn't right.
Knowing that this visit would cause him undue stress, I told him funny stories about when he was a little baby while we waited for the clinic to open. (the clinic being the fastest option for treatment) We laughed as I shared memories of his infancy. Kids do love to hear about themselves. And I found I love to remember those times.
The doctor did an examination, asked some questions and determined that it was all muscle tension. I did not fail to notice the tears in his eyes. That was the only thing that betrayed his level of pain.
His sleeping habits, video game playing, etc. had only made the stiffness worse. He prescribed several different remedies and we were sent on our way. I dropped him off at school, and we'd take care of him this weekend.
He's something else. I take my lead from him. I remember advice I was given when my daughter was a baby. I was told that when she fell or had an injury, if I didn't act like it was a big deal, she wouldn't either. That's good advice. And it is true. I hide my initial reaction and let them tell me how big a deal things are. It works. It also cuts out theatrics for the most part.
It has served us all well.
Over the years they have had their shots (without a fuss), emergency room visits, surgery, stitches, and broken bones and none of that involved being held down. Compare that to me at any given point in my life and they are wonderfully mature. When I had shots as a child, it took my mother, four nurses and a doctor to administer the shot. If I needed stitches, same thing. I had more than my share of Emergency Room visits that involved needles and stitches, and thankfully, no surgeries as a child. I'm a huge baby when it comes to stuff like that. I was determined that my children would not meet their health issues as I did. It has worked for the most part.
I also don't lie to my children about doctor visits. My mother used to do that to me. Of course, I understand her reasoning for it. I wasn't the best patient. I was pretty difficult to manage. She had her hands full. After the first several incidents, she always took reinforcements with her in order to help calm me down or keep me in place. For instance, doctors scared me. One of my first memories was of being in the hospital with the croup. I was in an oxygen tent and a crib that reminded me of a baby jail. They had to move me to my mother's room (she was in the hospital as well) because I was screaming so much.
Our doctor's office had a restroom that could only be reached through an exam room. So, I would tell her I had to go to the bathroom and then I'd promptly leave the doctor's office. Of course, being only about 4-5 years old, I went to the car. I was relatively easy to find. My brother came looking for me. After that, my mother specifically requested the exam room with the restroom attached so that I could no longer escape. And she always brought reinforcements to watch the door, just in case. Visits to the hospital required my mother pulling out the big guns. "Aunt" Norma Webb. I adored that woman and she could talk me into anything. When I needed to go to the ER, she'd swing by and pick Norma up and off we'd go. She made me laugh and my mom was not so stressed. And every trip to the hospital warranted a treat from McDonald's afterwards. My mom felt that that would help me be more willing to go to the hospital. It didn't help that but it did make me easier to manage afterwards.
But because I was so difficult, she would lie to me about going. She'd say ANYTHING to get me into the car. And that would work until we pulled up outside the office. Or even around the corner. My mother wasn't quite so clever. Her lies only worked a few times and she would have to think up another one. She'd lie about me having to get shots. She'd lie to me about it hurting. Shots always hurt! The only shot I didn't refuse was the shots I received after I was stung by a bee. I was severely allergic. Within 30 minutes I'd be so swollen and I'd be having trouble breathing. A bee sting meant an immediate trip to the hospital/doctor for a shot of Benadryl. And bee stings really hurt if you have an allergy to them. It took me years to figure that one out. They are extremely painful. I was usually stung on the foot. (I ran barefooted all the time) My foot would swell so you could hardly make out my toes. I was more than willing to have the shot that would save me from dying. That was serious stuff. My mother did teach me about the dangers so that I would always know what to do. As soon as I was stung, I was to drop to the ground and not get excited (that is hard to do for a child!). Someone was supposed to go tell someone right away. I was not to run or do anything. I followed her instructions to the letter.
I always knew, too, when I was seriously ill. My mother's face and actions told me EVERYTHING. So did my Dad. But he was always very loving and attentive anyway. He was harder to read when I was sick. But my mother betrayed everything she felt. She was an open book. The time I got blood poisoning, my mother got nice. WARNING BELLS! She was checking the red line that was running up my leg every few minutes. Feeding me information and signs to watch for when she wasn't in the room. Dad was checking me. She was bringing me things. She'd rub my temple. Asking me how I felt. She was loving.....and I'd heard them discussing things and my dad said he didn't want to lose me. Part of me didn't mind being hurt or ill because that was when she'd love me. Once I had a fever of 104.....she sat with me talking and playing cards so she could keep an eye on me and watch how I acted. She'd take my temperature often. Her forehead would be wrinkled with worry. She let me pick the cartoons that I wanted to watch. And I remember wanting to please her, I offered to let her watch her shows. I'd watch anything she wanted if it meant she'd be pleased with me.
As I got older, that set the precedent with us. If I was sick, her love would come out. And she'd love me and hold me and comfort me. Assure me things would be fine. I come to depend on that from her. It is one of the things I miss the most now that she is gone. Even a routine visit to the doctor, she'd want to hear about. Funny isn't it? She didn't care about me having a good life, she hated when good things happened to me, and begrudged me even a shopping trip with her. But the moment I hit the door of a doctor's office, she was there to offer comfort and love and concern. I'd oblige and let her know. When I moved to Oklahoma, I still called her because I found I needed that from her. It helped me find a closeness to her that I had always longed for. And when the kids were sick, she wanted to know. Or I'd call and ask her what a rash might be or ask her what to do for an ear ache (even though I already knew). I find myself still wanting to call her. I probably will always feel that need.
But I don't lie to the kids about the doctor. I also won't lie if something will hurt. I tell them what is going on and why so they understand, rather than fear the unknown. If I know I'll tell. If I don't, then I find out. It is right and fair. Although I had to endure lies, I'm grateful for them. They taught me a better way to parent my own children. God took them and turned them for good. As He does in all cases. Clouds ALWAYS have a silver lining. Something good ALWAYS comes of something bad. I'd rather face the truth than face the darkness of the unknown. I won't lie to protect myself. And my kids know I won't hide the truth. That's important.
posted by Unknown | 8:19 AM
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