We’re on day three of Roan’s Mid-Winter Recess Epic Illness. I guess it could be called day six since he actually started being sick Sunday night, but I’m going to stick with three because I let him out into the world for a few of those days, and if as his mother, I didn’t notice he was sick, well then partner, that’s just lousy parenting. I can’t bear the guilt. So to clarify and so our stories are straight: Roan has been sick since Tuesday night not Sunday, see? Moving on – the poor kid is pale faced and glassy eyed and has a wicked fever. At the fever’s height, he reached 104.8 at which point he said that he could do better, make it go higher, and began to wonder outloud how high his friend’s fevers had ever been. Roan didn’t eat anything yesterday and so maybe his competitive dementia is a combination of starvation + fever. He began wondering if there were a literal battle, with gunfire and rockets and explosions happening in his body. A real and true and righteous battle, which would produce a fever. Stay with me here. Gun fire on the inside would make a person hot, no? That’s a fever. So his feverish thought process took him to the final and obvious question any six-year-old would have, “Have any of my friends had a fight like this, or better than this, inside their bodies?” High score is determined by fever. So Roan’s personal best: 104.8.
I did warn him that a score like that, if it lasts too long, lands us over at the docs office. Which it did yesterday with a follow-up today. Some blood work, and a chest X-Ray later, he’s been diagnosed with Pneumonia. Roan has now ingested his first round of antibiotics, and is sleeping right next to me under three blankets which he demanded through chattering teeth. He’s been going back and forth between extreme chills and extreme hot. He’s very confused by this and actually? I am too. I haven’t been able to explain why that happens. I may have to turn to Google here soon.
We’ve watched about one-thousand hours of TV and read through two Junie B. Jones books. Not the vacation I’d imagined for him, but one where he’s needed me a bunch, and I’ve been happy to be available. I would trade in the vomiting option of this illness for the non-vomiting option, however. Tell a friend. And as I just finished typing that last sentence, the Universe played a little joke on me and Roan sat up from the couch like the girl in “The Exorcist”, and projectile vomited, just like her! But my boy…I’m adding 200 to his overall score because he hit the bucket which we have strategically placed on the floor. Whooosh. Ok, I’m getting all my electronics away from this situation. Have a great weekend everyone!