The Boy has pneumonia. We discovered this after spending four hours going back and forth between the doctor's office and the hospital for tests and X-rays. And at the end of that long four hours, The Boy had to get a shot of antibiotics. A very big, very thick, very bad shot.
I felt so bad for him. I had already told him he would get the shot, and that it would hurt a little, and that he needed to stay calm and be very still, even though it hurt. And then when the nurse actually brought in the shot and I saw it, I realized I had vastly underrated how much it was going to hurt.
But he was good, and stayed very still, even as tears poured down his face. And when it was over, he clung to me and sobbed. And when I told him he had been very brave, he cried harder and said that no, he hadn't been brave at all.
And that would have been the end of it, except the doctor also prescribed an oral antibiotic, which The Boy has to take twice a day for ten days. When the doctor handed me the precription, he warned, Make sure the pharmacist gives you a syringe. It didn't make sense to me at the time. Then we got the medicine, and as I always do, I tasted it so I could tell The Boy what to expect.
It was horrid. It was so bitter it actually made my tongue ache, and that was just from a tiny drop. I gave The Boy some cold water to help deaden his taste buds, and he tried to take his dose from the medicine cup. He cried. He drooled. He actually foamed at the mouth. And he still had half the dose left. Husband found a syringe and we managed to get the rest of it squirted down The Boy's throat while he screamed and cried and gagged. It was awful.
I was so angry. Surely there was some other medicine the doctor could have prescribed. How do you explain to a four-year-old that he needs to drink this stuff not once, but twice a day for what seems like forever?
This morning, I mixed his dose with grenadine to try and take some of the bad taste away. I made him some choclate milk so he would have something to drink after taking it, to wash the taste out of his mouth.
And when I brought it to him, I told him I was sorry that it was so bad, but that he needed it to get well, and that I had tried to make it taste better but that it was still bad. He looked a little sad and said, I'll try my best. I told him he was being very brave, and he said, Thank you for saying I am being brave. Thank you for trying to make it taste better. And he drank it. And I cried.
And we have nine more days.