The Happiest Sick Person I Know

Leo zoomed into the pediatrician’s office going about twenty miles per hour this morning. He headed straight past the “Not So Well” sign (the office has a “well” and a “sick” room, god bless ‘em) and dove headfirst into the pile of books. Yeah, he looked really ill.

All the office ladies greeted him enthusiastically, along with my favorite nurse practitioner. Whenever we go to the pediatrician’s, the whole crew has to check in with Leo. It’s pretty sweet. Leo’s the guy who screams like he’s being tortured whether it’s an ear exam or a flu shot, but he’s also the guy who hugs the bearer of the otoscope or the giver of the shot, the second any “procedure” is over. He can’t help himself.

The school nurse called me yesterday morning as I was headed into work. I saw the number on my caller ID and my heart sank. It’s too soon to be getting sick calls—it’s only week two of school. She explained Leo’s teacher was concerned about the amount of, er, “secretions” coming from his nose. It’s true. Leo’s had a horrific runny nose going on a few weeks now. He’s cheerful in spite of it and seems fine otherwise, so I haven’t wanted to run to the doctor to get prescribed a dreaded antibiotic. I’d hoped this little bug would work itself out but alas, it didn’t seem to be doing that.

I vowed to call Leo’s doctor and made an appointment for the next morning, which was today.

Sure enough, the verdict was bacterial sinus infection. The doctor took his time examining Leo though of course he did not make it easy. His chest was perfectly clear, and the doctor told me that pneumonia can be difficult to diagnose in people with Down syndrome, something about the low tone masking it? He also said it’s important to treat sinus infections quickly so that they don’t spread to the nasal bone. Yikes and also, geesh. But he said Leo was in no danger and we definitely caught it in time. Great, another thing to add to my list of medical paranoia.

The doctor asked me if we’d ever considered an adnoidectomy (Leo does seem to get 2-3 of these sorts of infections every winter and September seems a bit early to be starting). We agreed to keep an eye on things. I’m certainly in no hurry to rush him into surgery, especially since he seems to have finally graduated from his need of the ear tubes (knock on wood).

Feeling a little panicky with all the talk of “infection spreading to the bone,” I chose to fill the prescription this morning and give Leo a dose before I took him to school. Can I just pause to marvel at the wonder of antibiotics? Every time I get sick and am prescribed one (which thankfully isn’t often except for my three-time run at strep throat this spring, yay!) I am amazed at how quickly I start to feel better.

Leo was angel at the pharmacy. I try to support our neighborhood, independent pharmacy whenever I can (you may recall one especially touching time last winter when the pharmacist took pity on me with my two sick, sleeping children in the car and not only came out to my car to take my credit card but also hand delivered the medicine to me while I waited with the kids-yes my heart was warmed and a permanent customer was made).

Today the pharmacist even commented on how good Leo was: “Sometimes when kids come in here they just run all over,” he chuckled.

And that used to be Leo, a lot. Running around, not listening. And it certainly can still be. But today Leo was content to sit in the waiting area with the little muffin I bought him at the coffee shop by the ped’s office. I am noticing so many good things with Leo lately. He is more willing to hold my hand, less prone to bolting. I’m not so hesitant to run simple errands with him the way I used to be. Of course, all of this is also a heck of a lot easier when it’s just the two of us (Ellie was at daycare).

And much to my surprise, he didn’t even freak out when I took him to school. There were no tears and just a brief “collapsing into a limp noodle” incident, which he did every time I took him to school late last year and the year before. He did need a bit of cajoling from one of his classmates. Little Terry came out to the hall to greet Leo, who stood, back against the cold, tiled wall, hands over his eyes (‘cause you know, if he can’t see us we can’t see him). It took Leo less than a minute to go into his classroom where he took off his coat, put his backpack away. I’d visited the class before but that was before Leo was a student there. Before he was, you know, a real, live kindergartner. This is the first time I’ve seen Leo there in action.

When I left him he was sitting at his little desk, perched over his notebook intently and preparing to start a writing assignment. He didn’t even look back at me, didn’t even seem to notice I was leaving.

I know, it's only week two at the new school, but I think he’s really happy where he is. Sinus infection, take that.