This past weekend, Ben obviously didn’t feel well. He would hold his stomach, hold his head, was cranky and all out miserable.
As evening approached, he flirted with an elevated temperature. Only 99ish, but with shivers and moaning and groaning with achiness.
He vomited a couple of times, but it didn’t seem like the Norovirus going around, nor like a Cyclical Vomiting episode.
So we watched and waited and wondered.
After a restless night he awoke appearing somewhat better. My husband and I shrugged and exchanged confused looks. At least he was no longer miserable.
Late in the morning we showered him off and cleaned his ears, revealing our answer. Ben’s ear was freshly draining; it was infected, and the pressure and pain had been alleviated when the blockage opened up.
If only it was always that easy.
This one has a happy ending, but all too often, our child cannot tell us what he feels; even with something as straightforward as an ear infection. One would think he could just point to his ear and say “owie,” but he never does. Instead we put on our detective caps and do our best to uncover the origin. We ponder, brainstorm, scratch our heads and shake them too, but all too often we land right back on angst, do not pass go, do not collect $200, and do not guess the real problem.
And my heart aches and breaks when I try to help and fumble my way through. And my heart breaks that it’s so hard to help.
We have this child with health problems and an inability to convey his bodily messages or possibly even interpret them himself. When I think of how impotent I feel in my attempts to help, I wonder what he thinks. He clearly feels rotten and we’re supposed to be helping, solving his problems for him; yet we fail time and again.
It’s a constant guessing game, remembering past episodes and sorting through symptoms. With this one we had covered our bases with Ibuprofen and Zofran (a nausea drug), but we aren’t always that accurate.
And Ben suffers without a plea.
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