Got Strep?

Like every conscientious mother (have you seen The Nanny Diaries? — too bad I don’t have the money to premeditatedly neglect my children), I took Spot to her 12 month check-up this Monday. We were only six weeks late for this ritual of shots and stupid questions. If I were truly worried about my child’s physical or mental development, would I wait until an arbitrarily-scheduled appointment to seek professional advice?

Further conscientiousness led to Spot and Susan getting their second-dose flu shots, and to Sally, still suffering from her sudden needle paranoia, getting the inhalant version. I told her I’d take the cost difference out of her Christmas present allotment. And brave Mama got a flu shot too; my shoulder hurt for two days straight. Maybe Sally is smarter than she looks? I also had a fever, aches, and a sore throat that got worse and worse.

Soon (after four agonizing days) each swallow had to be preceded by ten minutes of mental preparation. How much saliva can you let pool on the back of your tongue before you just have to swallow? (not much, it turns out). Unlike fever and aches, a sore throat is not a common reaction to the shot version of the flu vaccine.

The internet also informed me that the fewer cold-like symptoms you have accompanying your sore throat, the more likely you are to actually have strep, and that strep should be treated with antibiotics, not because you’ll get better sooner, but so that your infectious period will be cut way down (right. who cares about that?) and also so you won’t die of rheumatic fever.

I don’t know how the show House remains popular when most illnesses can be self-diagnosed on webmd.com. And self-medication can be obtained at any online Canadian pharmacy. But I took myself off to the Intermountain Mega Clinic down the road. It’s beautiful, new, and staffed by smart doctors and cotton swab-wielding MA’s who trained for years to gag you and confirm in seconds the conclusion you came to after much soul-searching, desire to downplay wimp-like wimpering, and hours of computer research.

Dr. Welby asked if I’d been around anyone with strep, and, looking at disgustingly-healthy Susan and Spot, I realized I’d probably made a mistake at the pediatrician’s office on Monday. Apparently your mom’s advice to not take candy from strangers extends to little kids with lollipops. Maybe I should hire a nanny just for the doctor runs.

The worst thing about being sick is that you can’t abuse your body by staying up late and guzzling sugar-drenched soda. Not that I do that on a regular basis. Sickness, like age, reminds you that your body would really prefer a darkened room at 9:00 pm and lots of liquidy water.

The best thing about being sick is getting to moan on the couch with a book (I can do this anytime, but the guilt is less when I’m sick) while Dick pampers me a little. Which means that he gets the kids dinner (mama-leftovers from last week) and puts them to bed with me needing to nag a mere three times instead of the usual seventeen hundred.

But like any good martyr-mother, I’m happy to be sick instead of my kids. After all, they can be comatose zombies watch movies just as easily whether they’re sick or I’m sick, but my free ticket for couch-moaning and reading requires a few aches and pains on my part. Although I think Dick is going to start requiring a doctor’s note.