So, ever since we got back from our holiday I have been struggling with sleep deprivation.


Master J had decided he would no longer sleep in his bed after three weeks of sleeping at his Mummas side, so we put him back in his bed, moved his brother to the toy room to sleep (little boys heaven) and started controlled crying.


Then, knowing that you aren’t supposed to do the whole mean mummy thing of letting your baby cry when they are sick he went and got himself tonsillitis.


Really Badly.



We rode it out over the weekend with temps of 39C plus, as we live in a little country town with a doctor only on Thursdays, but on the Monday night he had a temperature of 40.4C and I realised that we needed antibiotics so on the Tuesday I took him the 40km to the nearest medical centre.


Got to the pharmacy, emptied my wallet and we went home and started the god-awful game of trying to get your orally challenged toddler to take antibiotics hidden in cordial, milk, yoghurt. Yetch.


Tuesday night his temperature spiked at 41.6 and he wasn’t in a well state at all, poor little mite. Really listless and lethargic – more than a little scary and I considered a 2am trip to the hospital. But he slept in with me and I gave him panadol and stayed up most the night just watching him.


Wednesday G Man was at school and I went to work whilst hubby did Daddy Day Care. He was very concerned that Master J was grotty, hot and had slept on him all day.


Discussing the fact that we hadn’t managed to have his temperature under 38.5 in five days with the other Mums at G Man school pick up that afternoon, and really not enjoying the prospect of another fever ridden night, they talked me into taking him to the hospital for further treatment.


So I got home, took his temperature which was 40.2C, gave him TWO (instead of the recommended dosage of one) Panadol suppositories (I told you he was orally challenged and I keep my right index fingernail clipped when he is sick – TMI???) and drove him another 40km to the hospital, our bags packed for a possible overnight admission My poor angel slept all the way there and I was beating myself up for the Worst Mother of the Year award for not talking him sooner.


We get to the hospital and I go to the Emergency Department and I kid you not. As SOON as we walked in my sickly little bubba was someone elses baby.


For the first time in five days he was smiling and giggling. No, he was SCHMOOZING the nurse behind the counter and I could see her wondering to herself why we were here.


I answered all her questions, bumped up the temperature a few notches to negate the giggles, and assured her that Master J was indeed, a very sick little boy, despite appearances, and I wished to see the doctor about him.


Seriously. He was running to the automated doors, making them open and close, laughing and carrying on like a pork chop. He was climbing on the seats and making faces at the other (very sick) people. I pulled him to my lap, and he wriggled out with gusto. I honestly thought about going home then and there but I knew hubby would be disappointed in the wasted trip and if anything happened that night with high temps again I know the “I told you so’s” weren’t going to be worth it.


This was Master J in the waiting room.


After 15 minutes or so (how awesome are the ED’s in a small country town) we were ushered into the ward where the doctor tried to catch him to take his temperature and his pulse. His temp was a flat 38C and I am positive the doctor did not believe me when I tried to assure him it was the first time in five days that it had been this low. Seriously – he just looked at me and I KNOW he was mentally putting a black mark against our name for when we visited again – it will be a two hour wait next time, just see.


I explained that for some bizarre reason I made the decision to give Master J TWO panadols, instead of the recommended one just before we had left to come down and this must be why there was such an improvement. The doctor then sagely and with a very professionally straight face advised me to take Master J home and proceed to give him TWO panadols every 4 hours until morning and see what happened. He assured me that No, I wasn’t wasting their time and being a paranoid Mum (Much, I thought I heard the RN mutter) and it was always best to be safe than sorry.


I realised that was our cue to leave the ED, so I restrained Master J from where he was jumping up and down on the bed (Look Mumma, tramp-line!!) and carried him kicking and screaming from the ward. I seriously wanted to fall through the floor. Apart from giving birth, that had to be one of the most humiliating experiences as a Mother ever.



So anyway, long story short, we did as we were told and his temperature never went over 38C again.

Well, bugger me. We know for next time.