Staph, sick time, and the need to scream...

It's been a while since my last post and for good reason.  Wednesday of last week I took Monkey to the pediatricians office to have him check out what I thought were insect bites of some nature.  He had three spots on him that looked beyond painful and even slowed him down from mach 3 to mach 2.  The early morning of Wednesday, Monkey also woke up (not uncommon) for a cup of formula (I have him on the older infants/toddler formula... he's 15 months and no longer on a bottle...don't judge...) and a diaper change, but when I picked him up for the diaper change, he felt very warm.  Turns out, he had a 101.5 fever and though I don't recall him ever having one that high, I've heard that if a child is running anything 102 or greater, they need to be taken in immediately.  We were only one half degree off and he wasn't screaming in pain or agony so I dosed him with Motrin and proceeded to let him consume his sippy cup.  I made the decision while I was holding him (and in turn, sweating my butt off b/c he was so warm) that I was going to call in sick and take him to the doc that day.

I was able to get him in that day and was told that the "bites" on his little legs were not bites at all but staph infections.  Excuse me, what? Yeah, my little Monkey had staph.  Well, f*** me running sideways upside down...  Ugh. I am SO glad I didn't waste anymore time on finding THAT out.  The doc put him on some disgustingly terrible smelling antibiotic 3x daily for 10 days.  He fights having to take it.  I can't say that I blame him. I wouldn't want something that smelled like a cross between used motor oil and a dirty diaper in my mouth either.  *gagging*

The second trip to the clinic was the next day. Doc wanted to see if Monkey had improved after having been on the antibiotic for 24 hours. No such luck.  He decided that it was best to go ahead and "lance" the sites to rid them of the gunk that was in them.  *SIGH*   This entailed holding my son down, with the help of a nurse, while the doc punctured his little skin with a large gauge needle and proceeding to insert an instrument in that hole and moving it around beneath the surface of the skin to break up the clusters and pockets of shit in there.  Monkey screamed blue bloody murder and just thinking about it makes me want to cry myself.  Poor baby.  I don't hate the doc, and I have no ill feelings towards the man because he did what needed to be done in order to get Monkey on the right track for promotional healing. But I'll be damned if I allow my son to continue to stay sick because I didn't allow the doc to do something he KNOWS will be beneficial on the count that it might be uncomfortable for Monkey.  I didn't leave him. I didn't leave the room or him.  (Someone told me that she just would not have been able to handle being in the room. Screw. That.  If that baby can stand to be held down and violated like that with that much pain inflicted on him, my ass can stay in the room and go through the emotional torture of knowing that he needed me to assure him that everything is going to be OK.)

Day three of doc visits proved to be an improvement.  The doc removed the gauze (specially treated with an antibiotic so while inside the wound it was treating it from the inside) that he used to pack Monkeys wounds with, and said that they looked much better than they had just 24 hours prior.  Finally, some good news.  We were given a prescription for an ointment that we are to use as his neosporin in the event that he gets a cut, scrape, abrasion of any sort, or seriously aggravated diaper rash.  This is due to him being more susceptible to the staph now that he has contracted it and fought it.  *sigh* What a freaking nightmare.  This is day 7 of the whole ordeal and I am happy to say that he is showing much improvement and is doing very well.  I am extremely proud of him.  My little trooper.

Sick time. I had 31.5 hours of sick time saved up.  I have used all 30 of it, and have started to burn into my annual leave.  Which brings me to the need to scream part of my post...

I feel the urge to scream.  At. The. Top. Of. My. Lungs.  There are workings here at the place of employment that are under construction but really need to manifest into something tangible like, right freaking now.  I cannot speak on this any more than I have but just know that there will be more information on this as soon as I can.  I will let you know...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In other news:

Mr. G is still on the grid.  He and I speak text on a semi-daily basis.  It's lighter than it used to be but, he's still there. And makes more effort to talk text me... I really think he was angling towards an invite while I was visiting Mrs. Adventure but seeing as how that was our maiden voyage into the misadventures that we are bound to have...and that she really wasn't feeling up to anymore "company", I just didn't feel up to it myself.  I had an afterthought of relief when she told him lunch was a no-go. I apparently had some pent up anxiety about meeting him face to face.  Though I would like to, I'm not sure I'm ready to.  I know. I'm so chicken shit.

Mr. Italian...I just don't know WHAT the hell to do about this one.  Seriously.  Some days I miss the hell outta him, I get seriously peeved if I don't hear from him because he is working so much,... and when he compliments me or says something nice, I immediately bristle.  WTF?!  I have no idea what is wrong with me.

I miss Mr. NRN.  Honestly I do.  Has nothing to do with the amazing short-lived sex life we had together.  I miss hearing his laugh and seeing his smile. *sigh*  I know, I KNOW!!!  More stupidity...

I have no earthly idea what the F is wrong with me.  LOL  All I know is that I have no idea what I want.  And that's the most truthful thing I have ever said.  Ever.

Ciao!