Since Coco got to be in the hospital without being sick, we were very reluctant this weekend to drag him to the doctor. But after two nights of unrelenting fever and bad dreams we decided he had to. Good thing, too, because now he has penicillin for his sinus infection.
I don’t know what’s worse, the fact that he resists going to the doctor so violently – no scars on me this time, but my forehead still has one from a previous struggle – or the fact that when he does give in it makes our hearts break. (He slumps down in that Charlie-Brown’s-depressed posture and says, in a small voice, “okay.” – this has occurred several times for blood tests.)
Well, yesterday he fought non-stop. And, honestly, part of me is really proud of him for doing so – as tough as it is to sit through a doctor’s visit that way.
The doctor, incidentally, was great about it. When she came in, she said, “Is this going to get any better with time?”
I said, “No.” She said, “Okay,” and the wrestling match was on.
Coco won after six rounds, on points, but we got the Amoxicillin.
Now all we have to do is figure out how to get him to take it.
Which isn’t as bad as it sounds. Sometimes he only needs time. Last night we set the medicine on the table and told him he needed to take it because it would help his nose be clear. After about half an hour, he said, “My cough, too?” We said “yes” and he took it. Even asked for more.
This morning, however, Madge was involved. And she has an urge to be right. All the time. And doesn’t have much patience. Let me rephrase that: She has a lot of patience for a 7-yr-old, but not when provoked by the shouts of a little brother.
Anyway, this morning Coco said he was going to throw the medicine away (he was about to push it off the table) and Madge took it as a personal challenge, and the day got off to a painful start.