"Gosh, Mrs. Mills, we haven't seen this much of you since she was a newborn," the receptionist remarked. "Not that we don't enjoy seeing you and Megan," she added.
I know, I know. I like chatting with them, too - when I run into them at the mall. But this is too much. It's the last day of January, and we've already spent our $300 annual deductible for Megan.
Saturday night, Gareth was urging me to take her to the emergency room -- a place that I equate with hell, second only to Costco on a Saturday afternoon, and something to be avoided unless absolutely necessary.
"For a fever of 101? I don't think so," I said. "She's only been on the Zithromax for 24 hours - her fever should break tomorrow," I promised.
But yesterday morning, the thermometer still registered 101.3.
"I think we should call the doctor," he said. Now, my own mother is a classic hypochondriac who dragged me to the doctor every time I had a sniffle (and today racks up frequent visitor miles at her own E/R). So I've gone the other way. I don't want anything to do with doctors unless I'm convinced it's serious.
The problem is, as I have no medical training of my own (I don't want anything to do with doctors, right), I can't always tell when it's serious, and then I feel guilty for allowing her to go to school for two days with walking pneumonia (which happened in the first grade).
Her hacking cough had kept me awake. All I knew was that she simply wasn't getting better.
I called my sister, who was visiting her in-laws in San Pedro and had mentioned dropping in on us on their way back to Sacramento. "It sounds like she could have pneumonia," Linda said.
So I placed the call, prompting my husband to whine that I never listen to his opinion (and when it comes to the issue of when to call the doctor, he's right. He tends to overreact whenever something is out of whack with our daughter. Heck, we both do -- it's just that our hackles get raised over different issues.)
The weekend on-call doctor listened as I hastily went over the details of the last week and a half. "One of two things could be happening here," she said. "The antibiotic she's taking may not be the right one. Or it's possible that the bronchitis is viral and not bacterial -- so no antibiotic is going to work."
She prescribed a different medication to replace the Zithromax and suggested we come in this morning -- possibly for another X-ray to determine if it's gotten worse (thank goodness! No ER!)
So Megan and I piled back in the car at 7:00 a.m. this morning so we could get to the doctor's office in time for the 8:00 walk-in hour. (Their offices are about 15 miles away, but with the Monday morning traffic, it takes about an hour to get there from here.) The good news is that her lungs were clear -- so there is improvement.
They took a blood count and confirmed that the infection she's suffering from is viral, so no amount of antibiotic is going to help her. She just needs to let the bug run its course.
"Continue to take the augmentin," the doctor instructed. "That should prevent any secondary bacterial infection from happening."
So there you have it. She's still running 101, and is so bored with watching TV that she's actually picked up a book. And I'm still here.