I was planning to write about several different things in this post but Max and his tonsils beat me to it! It all began on Wednesday. He just wasn't right after crèche on Wednesday. When Ciara got home after work she took his temperature and listened to his chest. A phone call to the doctor later and we were on our way to the last appointment of the day. The Doctor was the same one who examined him the last time and told us to go away and not be so silly. She said it very nicely though. This time she looked at us a bit strangely as we said there was nothing specific wrong with him. I could see thoughts of Munchausen by proxy going through her mind and I was sure that her left hand reached for the counsellor's leaflet. Then she had the obligatory look at him. 30 seconds later she assured us he was sick with tonsillitis and that she had a letter for Temple Street Children's hospital in case his temperature didn't go down or his breath rate increased.
We left the surgery with mixed emotions, we were happy we new what was wrong. We were very unhappy that our son was sick. Penicillin was the drug of choice and it smells of caramel, burnt caramel. So not only was our son sick, but we were about to find out whether or not he is allergic to penicillin. He's not. I'll not leave you in suspense on this one.
At this stage Max has figured out what's going on and is getting in on the 'I'm sick' act. There is lots of hugging and rubbing of the eyes. He was cranky and unhappy and not like himself at all. With lots of calpol and nurofen we managed to calm the triple effects of tiredness, teething and tonsillitis. We were hoping that the antibiotics were working in the background. The main concern once his health was on the mend was how we were going to get to work the following day. Thank the lord for Grandparents! They are wonderful. Max's paternal set got to work on baby minding on Thursday morning. His maternal set are taking their turn at wonderful on Wednesday next!
So let's get to the bottom of all of this sickness thing. Young Max is incapable of speech. He can only cry to make himself heard. So when he is sick, he cries a great deal more. He normally has several grades of cry to match his several grades of disgruntlement. From a whimper, through several stages of whine, up to a wail and then finally at a violent scream with tear accompaniment. When he is sick, it's straight through the stages and right to the screaming. Do not pass go, do not collect €200.
He doesn't really sleep well. When he wakes, guess what he screams. He can't really eat or drink properly with his inflamed tonsils, so he gets hungry and when he is hungry he screams. He doesn't like the taste of the antibiotics, so... He doesn't like his nose being wiped so...
We hug him and we sing to him and we make sure he is warm and give him as much love as we can pour out. It works and he was better by Saturday afternoon. He is still not 100% but he's getting there. He is asleep as I type and fingers crossed he will be until about 6am.
The real issue though is the type of illness, Max's was trivial. What if it was something more serious. I can't imagine and my heart goes out to anyone who has a sick baby. They are so fragile when they are sick, like fine porcelain in the middle of a football field during a pitch invasion. If Max does ever get sicker than a bit of tonsillitis, he will be wrapped in cotton wool and we will sell our kidneys and our parents' kidneys and houses to bring the finest doctors in the world to treat him. That is all.
