If you are of the faint of stomach do not read this post. It is about my day of cleaning up diarrhea.
I took Beau to the doctor yesterday because he has had a stomach virus but my greatest concern was that he hadn't urinated in at least a day. The nurse tried to dissuade me from coming in, and I probably should have listened, but it freaked me out that my kid who usually pees all over himself hadn't gone at all in the past 24 hours. Yes, he had diarrhea but no pee--at least that I could tell. Sure sign to me that something wasn't right. The advice nurse advised me to give him something to drink and I explained that he had had plenty of water and powerade to drink and she argued that obviously he had not.
Whatever, give me a freakin' appointment because I am not going to have DEFACS over here when he is on death's door saying "Why didn't you take him the doctor? You are a neglectful, unfit mother."
Of course, an hour before our scheduled appointment Beau did have a wet diaper and 2 really nasty diarrhea diapers. Nothing like the threat of the doctor to make my kids get better.
So off to the doctor we go. As soon as we get there Beau has a messy diaper--which he announces to the whole waiting area-- "Ew. Mommy. Poop. Yuck. Gross" pointing to his butt as if there is any question to what the sound and subsequent smell could be. (Note to self: must teach child the art of discretion. This is obviously not innate in boys as it seems to be in girls.)
I try to quietly take him back to the examine rooms and look for a nurse to ask for a plastic bag. You think knowing the situation I was in I would have packed more appropriately but I have 2 year old not a newborn--the diaper bag packed with the contents of my house is a thing of my past.
The nurse happened to be calling us back at this same moment so I explain to her the situation and she gives me a bag and tells me to change him on their giant baby scale. So I put down fresh paper and change the diaper which is foul thick yellow water that smells so awful I almost pass out. But I hold my breath and get the job done.
I dress him and we go across the hall to the older child triage room and wait. Beau asks me "What's this?" for every single thing in the room. This is his new stage. He asks "What's this?" and then repeats the word and files it away for later when he will surprise and wow me with his huge vocabulary. I think most kids go through this when they are around one but Beau was diagnosed with apraxia and recently has made huge progress in his speech so he is going through this now. I try to be patient with it but it does get annoying after awhile.
We wait and we wait and we wait. And I answer and answer and answer what that is. And then Beau has another episode. This time it is of the exploding kind. I am a bit panicked as I don't know whether to change him first or clean the floor or clean Blue (his blanket.) Thankfully, I was out of range so I am technically still clean. My nostrils, however, are in desperate need of bleach and a wire brush.
I decide to do the floor first, then Blue, the Beau. I usher him back across the hall and get him all set up. I rinse his jeans, along with Blue in the sink and fold them all and place in my now obviously too small purse. I put on a new diaper and begin to disinfect the table when the nurse (FINALLY!) comes back and asks incredulously "You're still not done?" Had I not been up to my elbows in diarrhea I would have smacked her-- or had there been something more solid, thrown it at her.
I explain that it happened again and tell her I need something stronger than baby wipes to clean the table. She gives me an industrial size container of disinfectant wipes and I briefly consider bathing myself and Beau with them but don't since Beau is now having a fit because he terrified of the giant woman and he wants his pants back.
She calls me to come across the hall and I have to drag Beau, who is suddenly struck by the modest gene, kicking and screaming into the room. I struggle him into my lap and try to appear patient and composed and pretend that I do not smell as disgusting as I know I must. The nurse cheerfully asks me "So what brings you here today?"
Seriously? I swallow my sarcastic remark figuring it won't help the situation and obediently explain about the 2 days of vomiting, complaints of sore throat, green runny nose, cough, fever, HORRIBLE diarrhea, and lack of urination. She records all this and then asks him to step on the scale. Well of course he doesn't want to, he isn't wearing pants and from our previous conversation he now knows the evil a scale can wreck on one's psyche. I tell the nurse he is 30 1/2 lbs explaining that he stood on the scale while we were waiting and remind her that I changed his diaper on the baby scale. Both said 30 1/2 lbs. Either she doesn't believe me or mistakenly thinks that I have no experience with scales and insists I get on the scale with Beau. Guess what he weighs? 30 1/2 lbs! Huh? Imagine that.
The rest of the appointment is uneventful and his pediatrician diagnosis Rotavirus.
On the one hand I am relieved that he isn't dying from some horrible strep infection or kidney failure but the other I am frustrated that I subjected myself to this fun experience to be told he has a stomach virus. Which, yeah, I knew! Even more, I am really excited, because the doctor informed me that sometime in the next 2 weeks I may get to experience all this for myself OR (goody goody, please) have the pleasure of caring for Carmella when she inevitably comes down with it. Definitely not what I was hoping to hear since I thought we were surely in the clear for not getting it by now. Oh and, then she said that the diarrhea can last for 5 or more days.
Yippy! ~doing a little dance~ diarrhea, cha cha cha; diarrhea, cha cha cha . . .