Saturday, April 4, 2009

Rollin’ without training wheels but with a possibly fatal disease. Das how we roll…

It started with a small pimple inside his teeny little five-year-old-boy nostril. We thought nothing of it.

Two weeks later, the pimple returned but with a vengeance. We were traveling and didn’t worry since the first had cleared up with no problems….aside from a small scar.

Last week another one showed up on his bicep. A muscle that is finally gaining distinction and tone. A status symbol to him. He flexes his little arm daily to show his daddy how big his muscle is getting and is quite certain that it must be as large as daddy’s by now. In fact, when I bandaged this miniscule pimple, he muttered under his breath, “Now people won’t be able to see my muscle so good.” (I laughed out loud and he hit me with a pillow.)

But this little pimple, that appeared to be nothing more than a spider bite, started to grow.

Four days later, he was complaining of pain. Any complaint of pain from Bonus is always cause for concern. This child has a tolerance unlike any other. Shots don’t even phase him. We have learned over the past five years, and warned others, that if he is crying then he’s bleeding profusely or his feelings have been crushed. I looked at the previously teeny red spot to find a pea-sized pimple. Full-blown and angry. The scary part was that there was fever in the sore.

I did the most logical thing any mom would do at 7 p.m….and turned to webmd. You’ve always been cautioned to NEVER go by that as a diagnosis. I have never followed ‘suggestions’ well.

First, the symptoms pointed to a boil. Great! I can handle that. I can do hot compresses and ‘see a doctor if needed’. That is right up my alley!

Then, I began coming across ‘make sure it isn’t MRSA’, and to say I started to freak the hell out…well, there is an understatement. That last line the first paragraph there? Yeah, you read it right. It says, “MRSA can be fatal.” FATAL. As in ‘circling-the-drain’. My baby could have something that can kill him. (I realize there are two “ifs” in the sentence…but when dealing with your child, ANY ‘if’ is cause for alarm.)

I grabbed Steve’s arm, showed him the sites, gestured to my precious baby’s arm and gave him the “I’m-freaked-the-hell-out” eye.

He? Blew me off.

Not a smart move, there Dork Fish. Not a smart move.

I turned to twitter. Those people love me. Those mommies care.

The responses were overwhelming. Not only did they care…they supported me with experience and advice. It was bliss. It was exactly what social networking should be.

I called the doctor first thing the next morning. They put me through to the nurse. I told her of the “boil” and refrained from speaking in hysterics or even mentioning the dreaded acronym that was already haunting my thoughts.

She said, “I’m sure it’s nothing, but we really need to see him to rule out MRSA.” MRSA!!!!!! SHE SAID IT!!!!! THE ACRONYM I WAS DREADING!!!!

Yeah, back in full FREAK-THE-HELL-OUT mode.

We get to the doctor’s, the nurse asks to see the ‘boil’, and immediately takes three steps back.

That is certainly comforting.

The doctor came in and took a sample to send to the lab but said that she wouldn’t know anything until Monday or Tuesday. “Although,” she had to add, “it definitely looks like a staph infection.”

We were sent home with oral and topical antibiotics for his ‘spot’, inside his nose and under his finger nails.

The worst part? Not making your kid feel like a leaper because you freak when he touches his nose, his brother or ANYTHING! Oh, and no son, you can’t bathe with Deuce right now. Please don’t give him your ‘used’ sucker. He’s good. I know he wants it REEEEAAAALLLL bad, but let’s not.

What does little Bonus do? He does the only thing he knows how to do…impress the hell out of mom and dad.

He walked in the garage and announced he wanted his training wheels off his bike. NOW. Shocked, we agreed.

He hopped on his bike and took off down the drive way. This, is what we watched:

biker beaux edited

Either it was his way of saying, “Screw you guys, I’m outta here!” or it was on his bucket list.

You never know with that one.

Don’t all men know cardinal directions?!

Husband (aka – Dork Fish): “In June I have to go to a seminar in Florida and wanted to take you guys with me.”

Me: “Where?”

Dork Fish: “Bonita Springs, or something?”

Me: (Googling) “OH, hey! That’s near Naples! I’ve heard there’s good shopping there! Not that I shop or anything…um, but it would give me something to do with the boys…ahem.”

Dork Fish: “Where is Naples? East or West coast?”

Me: “West. It’s opposite Tampa.”

Dork Fish: “So, it’s on the East coast then.”

Me: (rolling eyes) “NO. It’s on the WEST coast. You know, Never Eat Shredded Wheat *doing the little N,E,S,W sign with my hand*”

Dork Fish: “Right. Tampa is on the WEST coast too, sweetie.”

Me: “PFFFFTTTT. No, DEAR. Tampa is on the EAST coast.”

Me: (Googling)

Me: (Getting pissed cause Google is a lying bastard.)

Dork Fish: “Soooo…where’s Tampa?”

Me: (gritting my teeth) “I meant Miami. It’s on the opposite side from Miami.”

Dork Fish: “So, which coast is it on again?”



He never listens to me.