Well, the fever went down a bit yesterday, but other problems arose. He seemed fine in the afternoon after a three and a half hour nap (!), so off we went to the shops. After we went to the post office we did the tour of the pet store, where he saw a strawberry Abyssinian whom he promptly identified as Gryff Too, and played with the energetic kitten through the glass. “I’m hungry!” he announced as we left. “I need ice cream.” As I’d already privately decided to offer this same treat off we went, and he ate his little chocolate sundae neatly. Halfway through it he looked up at me and said, “Mama, you look hungry, too. Here.” And he fed me three generous spoonfuls of sundae.
We went to HMV where I picked up my Sound of Music CD, and discovered to my astonishment that I hadn’t used a cent of the gift card I’d been carrying with me since Christmas. It shouldn’t have surprised me; I don’t go downtown any more, and the selection at the local HMV outlet does not in any way reflect my musical interests. It’s good to know I can pick up a couple of DVDs when I feel like it, though.
Liam refused dinner, though, and not because of the ice cream. I’d offered it to him partly as a way to get something inside him, because his appetite was non-existent. While we were out he started periodically pressing his hands to his lower abdomen, but insisted that he didn’t have to use the bathroom. Finally, during his bath he grabbed his lower abdomen again and doubled over, crying “It hurts! It hurts!” HRH and I looked at one another, and HRH called to cancel his appearance at the evening’s game while I packed a bag with books and toys. A fever through the day and abdominal pain that spiked suddenly meant seeing a doctor, and just in case it was appendicitis I wasn’t willing to wait to make an appointment with our GP the next day.
We spent five and a half hours in various hospital waiting rooms last night. I can’t believe how wonderful the emergency department of the Montreal Children’s Hospital is. The staff was terrific. I’m also very proud of the boy who soldiered on relatively cheerfully through the night, lying in our laps, cuddling with us, reading books and watching whatever movies the waiting room was showing, asking periodically if we could go home, and generally being a trooper. From the location of the pain we suspected that it might have been a urinary tract infection, and let me tell you, trying to get a preschooler to pee into a cup when (a) he hasn’t had much to eat or drink all day, (b) is in a strange place, and (c) at the tail end of potty training and therefore resisting, is no fun. About half an hour after he finally provided a sample, he surprised everyone including himself with projectile vomiting. “Mama, what is happening?” he said in astonishment in one of the brief pauses between heaves. (At least it was mostly bile, because all he’d consumed in the last sevenish hours was water. Still not much fun, for us or the people around, although they understood. And of course I’d taken an extra diaper and some wipes, but not the extra change of clothes.) By this point our suspicions were turning to gastro. An hour later we were called into an examining room, where the doctor rechecked the boy’s temperature and did a quick abdominal exam, then asked us all a few questions. By this point it was eleven-thirty, and the boy was tired and just wanted to go home, despite all the neat things he’d seen. (He thinks doctors are very exciting.) The doctor told us that it was indeed most likely gastro, to watch for dehydration, and said to wait until they had the urine test back. Fifteen minutes later we were given the all-clear, and we went home. He was asleep by twelve-ten and slept till nine this morning.
No fever today, but he threw up his first cup of water almost immediately, probably because he went at it with his usual gusto and his tummy wasn’t ready for it. We did the small sips of Pedialyte, juice, and water through the morning, tried a small Rice Krispie square around eleven, and moved on to chicken broth with alphabet noodles ( “Mama, there are letters in my soup!”) for lunch. Then he decided he was Very Hungry and asked for a bowl of Rice Krispies and milk, then Cheerios, and strawberries. I gave him a bit of each, and so far so good. There’s no danger of dehydration; all systems are go. We’re just being careful. He, of course, is as happy as a clam and can’t understand why I won’t give him a proper meal. Poor kid.
My parents are on their way up here as I type, and will be here for dinner. I’m really looking forward to spending the weekend with them. On Sunday HRH’s parents are joining us for an early family-only celebration of Liam’s third birthday. At one point in the waiting room I said to HRH, “I’m just glad this happened this Thursday instead of next Thursday; I would have hated cancelling his first kids-only birthday party.” And I’m glad his stomach is settling, too, because having to skip serving cake at a birthday party of any kind is just wrong.
All the day’s correspondence handled (responses, business, weekend planning, proposals): done.
If there’s one thing that playing medleys of musicals for the Canada Day concert does for me, it’s reawaken my interest in musicals. On one hand the medleys are frustrating: they’re all arrangements and never exactly the same as the original song, which makes playing them somewhat counter-intuitive (there’s lots of but but but that’s NOT the rhythm of the song! when one begins playing a theme, and I have to try to not think about the original and play what’s in front of me). Plus they require several lightning-fast changes of key and time signatures, and challenge me to think fast.
Both literally and figuratively.
The day spiralled from “coping” to “ohmygods I’m officially dead of bad migraine” on the way home from picking up kitty litter yesterday afternoon, complete with a vertiginous incident coming up to a traffic light where I got the prickly sensation in my hands and feet that is my body’s warning signal for “you’re about to throw up, and probably a lot”. I rolled down the windows and turned the vents on for as much fresh air as possible, breathed deeply with great focus (the mantra being “cannot throw up in new car, cannot throw up in new car, especially not with small child aboard”) and we got home without disaster striking. Once home, however, that was it; I was toast. I did end up having to cancel my evening out because I couldn’t stand up without falling over (and pleaded for a rain check, preferable for next Tuesday) but despite doing the lying in bed in a darkened room with all sound shut out thing that usually helps migraines, I couldn’t fall asleep. So I took more pain-relief tablets and actually kept them down this time (not that they helped much) and kind of wandered around the house squinting and wincing at sudden sharp sounds. I tried to read but I couldn’t follow the style of Larklight, so I stared at my bookcases for fifteen minutes before I remembered that 
Storytime at the library for small child (for the first and last time this season — we joined late, and though next week is the last session before September we have a doctor’s appointment already scheduled): Success.
Four hours of broken sleep.