As has now become a family tradition we spent the public holiday at the doctors. We spent Boxing day, New Years Day, Australia day and now Easter Sunday at the local emergency doctors.
Number three was looking a bit peaky on Thursday but we (foolishly) decided he'd get over it. He did, he just gave it to #4 first. #4 spent Saturday night crying and weeping, moaning and thrashing about. He demanded cuddles, but not too hard, and vomited many, many times, usually just after having medicine.
Sunday morning I put on my last set of clothes that had not been vomited on and, pausing only to check I had no vomit encrusted in my hair I headed out to the doctors, with both children and Homer in tow. Homer drives whilst I hold the basin under #4's face as I don't want my car to smell of vomit for the next six months. While driving Homer rings the clinic to make sure our standing public holiday referral is still open and I ring home to make sure #1 moves some of the washed bedding from the washer to the dryer, and refills the washer.
On arrival at the clinic we go through to our usual cubicle. A nurse I didn't know, but with a full "Working on a public holiday and not happy " face asks in a condescending voice when #4 has last vomited. Just at the opportune moment he covered her starched white blouse with vile green liquid, a la exorcist. "Just about then" I blithely say.
#4 gets an injection to stop him vomiting, so we can him medicine to bring down his temperature.
We know he's recovering when he tells #3 that he's just had an injection in his BONES and that #3 will have to have one too, and it really really hurts,....a lot. (Funny that, he didn't flinch while he got his, but he knows to tell #3 its gonna hurt..)
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2 years ago