Linnae has some kind of virus giving her a fever of 104 that hasn’t been responding to Tylenol. It is one thing to intellectually know that a fever isn’t all evil, and another thing entirely to feel helpless to manage it. SuperHubby went and got children’s ibuprofen to see if that worked better. Chewable tablets meet with her approval, anyway.
So like every paranoid mom with a sick kid I was listening to her breathe – nice and even, not too fast or shallow – and I noticed her temperature finally going down l. 103, 102, some sweating…
Suddenly, she popped up in bed and started panicking incoherently, throwing her arms back almost spastically and drawing her knees up. I was practically running to put her in the tub and I could hear Paul rushing (it’s an interesting sound, soft yet implacable, he WILL get there, not even the laws of physics will stop him) down the hall. She yelled “this is NOT a good plan!” and something about sliding, and apparently woke up all the way. After her delirious spell earlier today, I was thoroughly frightened, thinking the thermometer must be broken.
I gave her a bath anyway, used another thermometer to make sure her temperature was really only a hundred, and we got her back in bed.
I now feel like I need a shot of whiskey which I don’t even LIKE. Boy.