Hopefully this is the last feel-sorry-for-me-because-my-kid-is-sick post for a while. Yesterday, we were back to the pediatrician for my daughter’s persistent cough. If she were a teen, I’d accuse her of smoking. She certainly has that hacker cough. When her doctor asked why we were back so soon, I told her we were trying to use up flex plan money before it expired. That or we heard they had a frequent visitor program and we’re racking up points. Before the doctor could accuse me of Munchausen by Proxy, my daughter started in with a coughing fit that would rival the Marlboro Man’s.
Diagnosis: Walking pneumonia—not to be confused with rockin’ pneumonia or the boogie-woogie flu—which, either one, would be a lot more fun. Three prescriptions later, we were on our way home.
I read through the side effects of two of the meds and noticed one warned she would be more susceptible to other illnesses. No matter. I hadn’t intended on taking her anywhere for days. We are going to hole up at home and get this cleared up.
After a dose of antibiotic, steroid, and a breathing treatment, I thought she would be ready for a nap. I know I was since she’s been waking us both up at night with her coughing. As soon as I took the mask from her face, she popped off my lap and started twirling around the den. Apparently no one in the test market exhibited the uncontrollable need to dance as a side-effect.
I guess I need to call her doctor and see if she’ll prescribe me the same drugs—or as the woman said in When Harry Met Sally’s famous café scene, “I’ll have what she’s having.” Because right now, I am not feeling like a very twirly-girl.