Vaughn went on a little vacation a couple of months ago ..TO THE HOSPITAL! Okay, it's like this: One Thursday, the daycare tells us about this rash Vaughn's got on his hip. And Vaughn always has little rashes and shit so we don't really think nothing of it. But despite being poor parents, we call the doctor. He says that if the daycare is saying something about it, we should probably take him in.
So, on Friday, Vaughn gets a fever. I think to myself (as opposed to thinking to other people), "What good timing! We're going to the doctor anyways!" So, we get to the doctor and his fever's like 103. No big shakes, says the doc. Although he chastised me a little for not giving my kid anything for the fever that morning. In my defense, though, I wanted the doctor to see it. I didn't wanna be the guy who goes in there and is like, "Help! My kid has a fever!" And then they check and he doesn't. And then they go, "Here, buddy.. Talk to these nice men in the white suits. FREAK." So, the doc sends me on my merry way to get some blood work done. On Vaughn, not me.
(He also tells me that the rash could be herpes and I'm like WHAT I'LL KILL YOU YOU FUCKER MY KID AIN'T GOT NO HERPES.)
(Additionally, after a little more chit-chatting, it turns out that *I* have herpes. Me and 80% of the population! Most of whom get it before they're seven! It's not the one you think. Honest. Still, imagine me trying to explain that to Tam without her googling "divorce lawyers in phoenix".)
The blood work says his white-blood cell count is high and that means he has some kinda infection. So back to the doctor on Saturday! The doctor implores me to take Vaughn in for more work. Unfortunately, the office won't be open on Sunday, so I should just go to the ER. And I'm kinda like, "Are you sure? 'Cause, tomorrow's the Superbowl.. and.. What? It is! STOP LOOKING AT ME LIKE THAT! ... FINE!! I'LL GO TO YOUR STUPID HOSPITAL!!!" Also, spell check suggests "superb owl" instead of Superbowl.
When we get to the hospital, his white-blood cells are off the charts. He's fighting something, only they don't know what. They did x-rays, a flu thing that you stick up the kid's nose, a spinal tap, urine tests, whatever. And nothing. Oh, I'm sorry, did I rush through that? THEY DID A FREAKIN' SPINAL TAP! Yeesh.
They decide to start him on antibiotics cause.. I dunno, why the fuck not, I guess. At this point, I still think we'll just be in there overnight and I'll be home in time for kick-off. Heh. Don't judge me. Alas, they still don't know what's wrong with him, so I bought a bag of chips and had me a Superbowl party right there in the hospital room. I would have had a grill going if not for you fire marshals and your fucking laws.
By Monday, Vaughn's pretty much fine. He's back to his kicking and squealing ways. But the blood culture finally came back with some (I guess) bad news. I say "I guess" because what were they expecting? Of course something was wrong with him. Bad news would have been that he was dying! Not that he has a bacterial infection. The hospital staff kept repeating to Tam and I how great it was that we were taking everything so cool. It sounds like a compliment, right? But it was so patronizing at the same time. What the fuck does that mean? We don't care about our kid? Would you rather us be frantic and irrational and scream at you people any chance we get? Which we could have since all we got for three days were shoulder shrugs and probablies (which, by the way, were WRONG!). We were at the hospital, what more could we do? I figured he was in pretty good hands! Should I have not been at ease? You can be concerned without being an asshole. Argh. That was pretty fucking annoying. Anyways, the final prognosis: He has strep in his blood. Instead of the throat, y'know?
The treatment for this is antibiotics.. FOR 10 DAYS! As an aside, I asked the doctors what we could do to prevent something like this from happening again. And their response was more or less, "Oh, this never happens." What? Are you fucking kidding me? Have I not been sleeping on an inch-thick piece of foam for more than a week? Slightly less offensive was the doctor who suggested we washed our hands. My fist stopped like two inches from his face (thank you, Lewis Black). Back at the ranch, Vaughn ends up getting an IV that spent seven days in his hand and one in HIS GOD DAMN HEAD. If you're doing the math and think something's fishy, you're right. We left a day early because the IV in his head came out (like I said it would!) and he ended up just getting a shot on day nine. And we're like, "Soooooooo.. We can get this shot at the doctor's office, right?" "Yep." And we left a dust cloud in our wake. That doesn't change the fact that I lived in the fucking hospital for nine days! NINE! Just long enough to pick up some kinda stomach virus! Wheee. Other rooms scattered throughout the floor boasted big signs that read shit like RESPIRATORY ISOLATION and DRIP ISOLATION (still no idea what that means). I'd bet a finger (not the thumb, though) that I got something from one of those other disease-ridden kids. Filthy sons of bitches. So, I took a week off of work, THEN had to stay home another two days while I puked and shit my guts out.
In the end, the rash just kinda went away. And no one really knows what it was. Dun dun DUN!! o_O
But, wait! That's NOT the end! There's a reason this took me two months to post. But more on that later. Surely LJ has some sort of character limit.