Yea, I Didn’t Want To Go There Either…

So here’s my last twenty-four hours:

My four-year-old spiked a really high fever (over 103 degrees) and because he is more stubborn than Megatron on a good day, he refused to take any Tylenol or Motrin. As in nada. Nothing.

Having a four-year-old with a high fever is only marginally worse than having a fifty-six year old husband with a fever in terms of grump factor. At least with the husband I can throw some food at him and shut the door.

Oh wait, that’s the dog.

So my kid’s refusal to take his meds could have been due to the fever. But it wasn’t. My kid can be the sweetest, most loving Tasmanian devil–I mean, child–on the planet, but when he makes his mind up, that. is. it.

So we did what parents everywhere have done when their kids have high fevers and won’t take their medicine ORALLY. (It’s okay. I’ll wait while you catch up.)

Took a shot of vodka and pulled down his Spongebob jammie pants.

Somehow I don’t remember being excited about this part of parenthood when I read the manual.

Believe me, there were 2,004 OTHER THINGS I would have rather been doing than putting a suppository of acetaminophen up my child’s nether regions. But we had exhausted all other options and his fever was climbing ever higher. It was time to er, take matters into our own hands.

Words like hate, moron, and stupid spewed from his mouth after this interaction and I can’t say I blame him. Most were directed at my husband. Can’t say I wasn’t happy about that. (Hey, in times of stress, you take all the favoritism you can get.)

Today rolled around and the little oven and I headed off to the pediatrician’s office. Fortunately, the wait was minimal. If I had known what was in store for me however, I would have rejoiced in that small victory. Why? Well, the visit was hell (Tas was not in a cooperative mood, poor baby). When I went to pay, the credit card wouldn’t go through. Say what?

Got that straightened out. They said they’d fax over the prescription to our pharmacy. Great. Get to the pharmacy and guess what? Well, what always happens when you get there without calling first: no prescription. No record of the prescription. Of course not. This is Monday and I should change my name to Murphy at this point.

Get the doc on the phone–they did try to fax but line was busy. Amazing to me how people crash and burn into the pharmacy on Monday like addicts. I used to work in one–I know.

If you want to learn how to be mean to people, go work in a pharmacy. It’s an exercise in frustration, working with doctor’s offices, insurance companies, and sick people. Next time you are mean to your pharmacy counter staff, take a step back and think about the daily shit they take and bring them a coffee instead–or money to go get a college degree to get the hell out of there.

Anyway, the boy and I went to get a car wash while we waited for them to fill the prescription. When we got there, it was broken. Of course it was. At that moment, my husband called to tell me the puppy had pooped in the house (like there was anything I could do about it? Hey I wanted a cat.). Then the pharmacy called to say they don’t have the antibiotic and did I want them to call it in to the other pharmacy that’s eight miles away.

Then I got a call that a friend was mad at me for something I didn’t do. It all got worked out pretty quickly, thank goodness and we’re golden now, but that was it. My breaking point.

I just sat in the car and cried.

Thank goodness we were parked.

My dollbaby of a son came up front to wipe my tears and told me I was the prettiest mama in the whole world–well, that I would be if I’d just stop crying.

That made me laugh.

So, all is not good. He’s still sick. I still don’t have his prescription. My puppy is still barking at me. And my husband is still kind of grouchy, though not sick (so what the hell is up with that?).

But hey–I feel pretty.