I got a phone call this afternoon from our pediatrician, who gleefully announced “Your daughter is the best thing that has happened to me since med school! Every time she gets sick I learn something new!” Apparently, A has somehow managed to get infected with a parasite that my pediatrician had never ever heard of, and this particular parasite only rates a one sentence mention in her very large book on infectious diseases.
On the upside, the two weeks of vomit and poop have been explained nicely. On the downside, I now have to try and convince the child to take the most revolting medicine ever. And it doesn’t come in a liquid formulation, so we have to crush tablets and try to hide them in food. Today I promised her a toy-store worth of Barbies, and managed to get 1/2 a dose down her. We have to give her three doses a day for ten days. I will go bankrupt.
I would love to end this post in some witty way, but really, there is nothing witty about a mother who spent the afternoon the verge of a nervous breakdown and a small child with parasites living in her belly. Plus, she worked herself up into such a state that she vomited all over my new(ish) shoes that I loved more than any pair I have ever owned. They were green. And suede. And are now garbage. Sigh. Serves me right for trying to wear cute shoes.