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: Trying Not to Wallow
You would think with the state of constant familial illness that I live in, I would get used to it.
Mimi's had a rough week plus. After my last post, the poor kid woke up with a fever of over 104 and was completely delirious. It would have been funny if I hadn't been so freaked out. She was talking about teeny tiny beds and sick strawberries. And that's only the words I could make out. On the way to the hospital, where we were going not because it's an emergency, but because she had been complaining for almost a day about the "mosquitoes" in her ears (she hears buzzing when she has an ear infection - due to the P.E. Tubes, I guess) and we have been trying to beat an ear infection that never seems to go away with a doctor there, Mimi vomited all over (and I mean ALL OVER) the inside of a taxi.
I wouldn't have minded so much, but it's not easy to get a ride to the hospital from here - it's only a E5 fare and getting in and out of the hospital is a pain in the ass - with a pajama-clad sick kid off the closest busy street. It takes forever to find a taxi driver kind enough to take us there. So I felt especially bad that after 20 minutes, someone picked us up and then less than a km from our destination, got a projectile chuck to the back of the head.
Turns out it was just a virus, not her recurrent ear infection. And then after a day or two, she had another fever and has had an awful bout with something like diarrhea but would be more aptly described as rocket poop coupled with unbearable stomach pain after she eats. Add a picky, sensitive preschooler diet to the mix and you have a disaster. Oh, and a toddler who is all too willing to share whatever he has to eat that is not compatible with intestinal distress with his best friend in the world.
Today is her third or fourth day of rocket poop. I am determined to keep her on a strict BRAT diet. Her poor tummy. And the stinky gas. Even she can't take it. She keeps dutch ovening herself with her little blanket and then complaining that somebody tooted. When I reassure her that it was only her, she says, "Mom, it must have been you. My toots don't smell like that."
We were planning on being here until August, and so that makes 3 more months. Three more months, I tell myself. I miss Cory so remarkably much that he must be my true love. And I miss my friends, and my car. And Thai food (actually any kind of Asian food). And lots of things.
This whole assventure certainly didn't go according to plan, but we've rounded to curve somewhat. I guess Los Angeles will be home to us again, and maybe this time I won't complain quite so much.
You would think with the state of constant familial illness that I live in, I would get used to it.
Mimi's had a rough week plus. After my last post, the poor kid woke up with a fever of over 104 and was completely delirious. It would have been funny if I hadn't been so freaked out. She was talking about teeny tiny beds and sick strawberries. And that's only the words I could make out. On the way to the hospital, where we were going not because it's an emergency, but because she had been complaining for almost a day about the "mosquitoes" in her ears (she hears buzzing when she has an ear infection - due to the P.E. Tubes, I guess) and we have been trying to beat an ear infection that never seems to go away with a doctor there, Mimi vomited all over (and I mean ALL OVER) the inside of a taxi.
I wouldn't have minded so much, but it's not easy to get a ride to the hospital from here - it's only a E5 fare and getting in and out of the hospital is a pain in the ass - with a pajama-clad sick kid off the closest busy street. It takes forever to find a taxi driver kind enough to take us there. So I felt especially bad that after 20 minutes, someone picked us up and then less than a km from our destination, got a projectile chuck to the back of the head.
Turns out it was just a virus, not her recurrent ear infection. And then after a day or two, she had another fever and has had an awful bout with something like diarrhea but would be more aptly described as rocket poop coupled with unbearable stomach pain after she eats. Add a picky, sensitive preschooler diet to the mix and you have a disaster. Oh, and a toddler who is all too willing to share whatever he has to eat that is not compatible with intestinal distress with his best friend in the world.
Today is her third or fourth day of rocket poop. I am determined to keep her on a strict BRAT diet. Her poor tummy. And the stinky gas. Even she can't take it. She keeps dutch ovening herself with her little blanket and then complaining that somebody tooted. When I reassure her that it was only her, she says, "Mom, it must have been you. My toots don't smell like that."
We were planning on being here until August, and so that makes 3 more months. Three more months, I tell myself. I miss Cory so remarkably much that he must be my true love. And I miss my friends, and my car. And Thai food (actually any kind of Asian food). And lots of things.
This whole assventure certainly didn't go according to plan, but we've rounded to curve somewhat. I guess Los Angeles will be home to us again, and maybe this time I won't complain quite so much.