Oh, Hand, Foot, and Mouth disease, has it really been that long?
After digging into the MaMe Musings' archives, I learned that our first run-in with you was back in December 2011. You were the rude awakening greeting us when we returned from our weekend away. You cruel, heartless...
I noticed that beyond the mention of you in that post, there is nothing else but the awful memories to document your stay. And, memories we have. That encounter with you was a great example of how little people germs can attack big people and often the big people are worse patients than the little ones. Oh, yes. Marty got it, too. (For those of you who have experienced a sick husband, you know what I am talking about...)
We thought we were finished with you--you with your nasty blisters, fever, and general feeling of yuckiness.
So when we awoke last Saturday and Drew complained that his feet hurt, imagine my surprise when I saw several small red spots on his feet. A check of his hands showed a couple there, too. No fever. No mouth sores. Usually a bundle of energy, Drew was a little more subdued, a little more cranky.
By Sunday, the red bumps were gone.
Surely, this was the easiest case of Hand, Foot, and Mouth-- ever. Or maybe I had made a misdiagnosis. Dr. Google and I have been known to be wrong...
Then, on Tuesday, Emily complained of a sore on her tongue. No sores anywhere else. No fever. Other than a sore on her tongue, she was okay.
Just a tongue sore? Hmmm, definitely not like our previous experience with Hand, Foot, and Mouth...
By Wednesday, Emily had anything but just a tongue sore. This thing was massive. It hurt just to look at it. Surely, the doctor could do something.
I am sure this just doesn't apply to pediatricians, but why is it that a visit to their office yields so little in the way of a cure or a remedy and often either just leads to a confirmation of what you already suspect and/or instructions to treat with time and Tylenol?
I told the doctor what I thought was going on. She concurred, gave us the same instructions to follow that we had already been following, and sent us home to wait it out.
Did she know how bad this sore was going to get? Did she realize that tongue sore was going to gobble up the one part Mylanta and one part Benadryl mixture and laugh a sinister how- could- you- be- so- naïve laugh? Did she realize it was going to get so bad that Emily would stop wanting to eat or drink or talk? That eventually all intelligible communication would cease only to be replaced with four days of moaning, whining, and pointing?
I am just saying that if the doctor knew how bad it was going to get, she would have given me a prescription for some nerve pills.
Instead, I ended up eating all the things I bribed Emily to eat: popsicles, pudding for breakfast, warm, soft Krispy Kreme doughnuts, yogurt, soggy cereal, baby food. Just kidding, I didn't eat the baby food. I do have limits.
Seriously, in 2013, I can't believe we don't have a better treatment option for mouth sores. They are awful.
When Emily won't eat OR talk, you KNOW it's bad. My girl loves both.
No ice cream awful...
Saddest, pouty face ever awful...
Much to our relief, Monday brought a break in the awfulness. It was pure joy to hear Emily talk again, to watch her eat again, to hear her argue with Drew again...