So it looks like I jinxed myself with my last blog.
There I was, trying to explain how hard it was to watch Finley suffer from a sore throat; not knowing that brewing under that tender esophagus was something much more sinister.
The good news was that the sore throat definitely went away. The bad news was that the fever reappeared Monday night and into Tuesday morning. Plus, she was tugging on her ear… From experience, this told us it was time to go to the doctor and see if she had an ear infection (We’ve done this routine twice before).
So, after a dropper-full of Tylenol, we headed out to the pediatrician and one of Finley’s least favorite pastimes… letting someone look in her ears. And after holding her down during the dreaded peek into her ears, it was determined – to my surprise – there was no infection. They told me to watch her temperature and keep with the Tylenol.
Then, as we were settling her down for bed, Heather discovered something. Finley was having trouble moving her head, because her neck was so sore. She also discovered a tiny lump on Finley’s neck, under her ear. Finley wasn’t a big fan of us checking it out, which told us it was tender.
The first thing I thought was that maybe she had slept wrong and had a crick or a knot in a muscle on her neck. She was responding well to the Tylenol, her temperature was near normal, and we were hoping that one more good night of sleep would help her push through it. Then Wednesday morning hit.
In our normal routine, Heather takes off for school fairly early and I’ll get up an hour or so after that. If I’m lucky, I can get all my stuff together by the time I hear Finley starting to wake. The first part was about the same, but THIS morning I woke up to hear a screaming girl and rushed to her room.
There she was, her neck so sore she couldn’t sit up, and crying away. I gently lifted her out of her crib and was able to get her to calm down a bit, but her fever was back up. I could tell by looking in her eyes that daycare was out of the question and there was probably a bit more going on than a sore neck.
Heather checked in on her way to school and called the doctor’s office to see what their take on this would be. She had to leave a message, but they called me back fairly quickly. After describing what was going on and my theory of a crick in her neck, the nurse said it is very uncommon for kids her age to have neck problems and that I should take her to the emergency room.
We have been very, very lucky with Finley. She is now 2 years and three months old and this was the first time we’d ever ventured to an ER. I don’t want to take her there, again. Don’t get me wrong, the folks there were very helpful and it’s a very nice place. It’s just that the concept of GOING to the emergency room is probably worse than actually being there.
I suddenly had to change my mind set and get us both dressed and ready to go. And as I’m doing these basic things, I’m telling myself not to freak out… to quit thinking all these worst-case scenarios of what’s wrong with her… and remind myself that nothing has been diagnosed. I literally had to stop, take a deep breath, and tell myself to be the strong, tough daddy for a girl who was probably going to be just as scared as I was from all of this. It was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do. But I did it.
So, off to the hospital we went. By this time, Finley was in a bit of a daze – between the fever and the pain, she was very lethargic and fragile – not a surprise. All of her usual kid energy was gone, fighting the sickness in her body. She was not my little girl, at all.
One thing I have to say is that if you have to go to the ER, go on a Wednesday morning on a nice day. Not only was there nobody else there, waiting, but the staff was in a good mood. I also have to say that for all of the things we went through in that first hour… all the poking and prodding and questions and examinations, Finley was a trooper. Sure she was scared and upset, but she let them do their job with a minimum of fuss. I think this was because of two things: 1) I think deep down she realized that anything is better than being sick. 2) Daddy was here. Which is why I had to be strong.
I won’t lie. I hated every bit of it. Not the people or the place… the situation. Two hours of sitting in an ER examination room wondering what’s wrong with your child is no fun at all. You don’t want to think bad things. You try to stay positive. It’s so hard.
Finally, after a couple of X-Rays are taken, we find out that her lymph nodes are infected. Whatever cold she had the week before somehow settled in the back of her neck and caused them to swell – which explained the fever, the sore throat, and what we thought was an ear ache. And that was it. Thank goodness, that was it.
A few days of children’s Motrin and some Amoxicillin later, our girl has returned to her normal, playful, crazy self. I don’t even mind the occasional tantrum, these days. At least I know she’s well.
Looking back at the whole deal, it seems like a lot of worry over a little thing. But, really… is there any such thing as a parent? Last week I said how helpless I felt as I watched her in pain. This time around, that helplessness was replaced by fear. Sure I was scared. Who wouldn’t be? But I had to keep telling myself that until something had been diagnosed, there was nothing to be afraid of. It wasn’t easy, but it was my job.
When we got home from our morning trip to the hospital, there were two people who were exhausted. The tough little girl who was battling bacteria and her dad – that tough guy who stood over her crib as she fell straight to sleep. No, those aren’t tears in his eyes. Tough guys don’t cry.
If you haven’t guessed by now, I really enjoy being a Poppa.
I like the hugs and the kisses, the giggles and the songs, and the tickles and the grins. Of course, you can’t always have the good stuff. There are tantrums and tears, bonks and bruises, and the occasional sickness. It’s this last point that really makes Poppa-hood challenging.
Not challenging because there are times when you have to get up in the middle of the night and clean vomit off of sheets or change super-icky diapers… that’s my job. And it’s stuff I can control. The challenging part is the stuff you can’t control. Stuff like pain.
Because I’m the Poppa, I’m supposed to fix everything. But there are just some things that are out of my control. I can’t automatically make a fever go down or make an owie go away… And that’s frustrating.
A perfect example of this happened Friday. Just after 1pm, I get a call from daycare saying Finley had a temperature of 101 degrees and needs to come home. So, I did a quick little prep… made sure she had some pajamas ready to go, made sure the shades were down in her room, and that she had a sippee cup full of pedialight standing by. Then I went and picked her up.
Normally, when I go get my Finderella from daycare she’s overjoyed at seeing her Poppa and runs and jumps into my arms. Today, she was very happy to see me; she was just lethargic and obviously sick. When I lifted her up, her head immediately plopped on my shoulder, as if she had given up trying anymore and just wanted her daddy to take her home.
She was a bit warm, but not anything I felt was too terrible. The real problem was her cough. The poor thing just kept coughing and coughing and in the long run had a very, very sore throat. And as the afternoon went on into evening, her throat got worse and worse.
Right before bedtime was the peak. I could barely get her jammies on and she couldn’t keep her hands out of her mouth. My guess is that she was trying to reach whatever it was that was making her throat hurt. But that just made her more frustrated and cranky and crying certainly didn’t help.
For a very brief moment I felt helpless. She wasn’t going to fall asleep like this and this wasn’t something I could solve by rocking her. My only hope was medicine.
Heather had purchased some homeopathic cough syrup designed for toddlers that afternoon, but Finley wanted nothing to do with a spoonful of gunk. Luckily, I was able to dig up a squeeze dropper from our medicine box and was able to convince her to take it that way.
It wasn’t an immediate fix, but after a few minutes of rocking, she finally started to settle down. I knew that if she could just get some sleep, she’d get through the worst of it, and I was right. She was exhausted from trying to fight the fever and the sore throat, so once she was out, she was out for good.
The medicine did the trick for the next few days and she’s well on her way to recovery, but it was as hard on me as it was on her. Mainly because I didn’t feel like there was much I could do.
The number one thing we think about after our child comes into the world is how much we are going to protect him or her. But the reality is, there are just some things out of our reach. I wish I could take her pain every time she looks up at me with those sad eyes.
The good thing in all of this is that in some ways, as parents, we DO help take the pain away. Just being there, with our comforting arms and soft kisses on tear-stained cheeks does wonders for them… because they know they are safe and that we will try our very best to help them feel better. It’s us they run to when they fall down and it’s our kisses they want on their boo-boos.
I happen to know that those little kisses go a long way. How do I know? Because, yesterday, as I was sitting on the couch in shorts, Finley saw a scratch on my leg. She pointed to it and said “Daddy has an owie?” “Yes,” I said. “Daddy has an owie.” Then she promptly leaned over and kissed it. “All better,” she said. All better.
we have to start introducing her to more experiences that take her out of her safety bubble. She pretty much only knows home, daycare, and the occasional trip to a relative’s house. And even when we go out, she tends to cling to one of us until she gets used the person or situation.Last month Heather took her to visit our dentist. It wasn’t a real appointment to check her teeth, but more of an introduction to the dentist and the office. Of course, she wouldn’t let go of Momma and wanted nothing to do with anything else. It’s like that when we go to the doctor. She’s fine until they start poking and prodding. But really, who is comfortable at the doctor …or the dentist, for that matter?
So, this past weekend we took another step outside of our next to take our shaggy short stack to get her haircut. Okay, so she wasn’t really that shaggy, but her hair was beginning to get a little out of control. So momma booked a time at this kiddy salon at the mall.
This place is set up just for kids. Each of the chairs are cars or planes and they have this great gimmick of handing the kids a small bucket of toys, so they’re not only distracted by a bunch of goodies, but their heads are always down, making it easy for the cutter to do her work. It’s a great idea… as long as you can get the kid in the chair. And that’s where we had trouble.
She liked the colors and the mirrors and the balloons in the place, but whenever we tried to set her down in one of the chairs, she dug clung on to us for dear life. We got one of her feet inside a seat that was made to look like a pink roadster, but the waterworks started and we knew we were out of luck. So, instead of getting her first real haircut in a car or a biplane, Finley sat on my lap, while the scissors went to work.
It really wasn’t much of a haircut. More of a trim of the ends and the bangs, but she got through it without a peep. Of course, she had her legs locked around one of mine while she dug through the toy bucket. She wasn’t going to go anywhere without me.
The thing is, we know – because she is a girl – that anything to do with her hair will eventually become something she will grow to love and enjoy. But getting to that point will take a while. Which is just fine with me and my checkbook.
Ultimately, she is going to learn to break out of her shy shell and learn to embrace new experiences. It starts with trips to the doctor and the dentist and the salon. But it eventually turns into those first days of school and continues on to the point where she leaves home for college or whatever she decides to do.
Until then – like it or not – we’re going to have to give her a little shove from time to time. She’s going to want to turn around and cling to us, but we’re going to have to help her learn to let go. And we’re going to have to let her go.
We’ve got plenty of time before some of those bigger moments in life, but in the end the message will still be the same: She’s going to have to take some steps by herself… but she can always come back when she needs to.
The truth of the matter is, I don’t mind that she wants to cling to me as hard as she can. I like knowing that she finds us as a safe place. I also know that over time, her grip will loosen to the point where she won’t need to cling to us anymore. I guess that’s the point when we’ll be reaching out for her.
