Poor Bébé

The last couple of days have been spent trying to cool the 104 degree fever my daughter was suffering from.

Nothing makes you feel more helpless than seeing your usually very energetic toddler just lay there with barely enough energy to lift her head off the sofa cushion. We ended up taking her to the children's hospital because our family doctor was on vacation, and instead of my usual course of under-reacting to things like this, I actually listened to my gut which was telling me to have her checked out, if for no other reason, than to put my mind at ease.

She had been refusing all liquids (popsicles, even!) for several hours and even when she's been sick before, she has always wanted something to drink. I did not want her to end up dehydrated or puking or having a seizure (which I'm told can happen with high fevers).

As it happens, my daughter does not like doctors. Or nurses. Or having her temperature taken. Or the little heart-rate monitor they tried to stick on her finger. But most especially? She loudly protested the blood pressure cuff they used. And when I say "loudly", what I really mean is the high-pitched squeal followed by the piercing scream of displeasure heard the next province over.

You there, in Quebec? That screech 'round about 2:00 p.m. yesterday afternoon was not the engine of an incoming 737 to the airport. It was my daughter voicing her extreme pissed-off-ness to everyone within earshot and the hearing problem I've had in my right ear for years graduated from a problem to I think I'm now deaf on that side.

Today, she is fever-free but tired. And that means she is tetchy, bossy, and smiling at everyone around her. Loudly.