I have one sentence as to why I didn't post my Friday Poll, which should explain everything.
Mr. P was diagnosed with a MRSA(drug-resistant staph)infection.
After twenty four hours of panic and crying and thinking that my son might possibly wind up in the hospital, gravely ill, all is now well. All I could think of were the stories I had read about healthy oxen-like football players getting a scrape on their knee, and then less than a week later were dead, or the nine year old who cut himself on the sidewalk and again, less than a week later was dead.
There are two types of MRSA, the first and nastiest being HA-MRSA, which is "hospital acquired" MRSA. Often fatal, usually patients already in the hospital get it, usually through invasive tubing that becomes infected.
The second type is CA-MRSA, which is "community acquired" MRSA. Staph is a normal flora that lives on our skin, and it requires the right set of circumstances to get into your system and infect you. Somehow, that happened with the Munchkin.
Tuesday night he called me over to the bathtub. "Look Mommy! Bumps!" And indeed, over two dozen angry looking red bumps all over his legs and more on his forearms. Knowing that he has allergies, and it being 7:30 at night, I called the nurse and she thought it was a localized allergic reaction, possibly to grass or something. So, I gave him some Benadryl and didn't think much of it.
But Thursday morning rolled around and the bumps had not budged. They hadn't spread, but they hadn't gone away either. I had tried not to overreact and bring him into the doctor's on Wendesday.
But on Thursday when the doctor said the words "MRSA" I almost had a heart attack. I'm so NOT kidding. We were prescribed antibiotics and sent home, where I promptly freaked out. Especially after Googling it, because it seemed there were pretty much two ends of the MRSA spectrum: you would be fine, or you could possibly die. Not much middle ground. So as a mother, I immediately jump to the worst case scenario. Or maybe being a mother had nothing to do with it, and it's just a personal problem.
But I spend all of Thursday night cursing myself for not bringing him to the doctor's on Wednesday. I had nightmares of the bacteria coursing through his body and infecting his blood. I cried, I wailed, I practically did everything but bang my head against the wall. Again, those stories of people who had died from it, as well as knowing (thanks to the internet!) that the CDC put children in the "compromised immune system" category for MRSA, which also put Mr. P at higher risk, sent me into a complete mental tailspin. Which really, is unusual for me.
So, back he went on Friday to the doctor, because the bumps had changed in nature, but I wasn't taking any chances on the change being for the better. The doctor said that the alarming purple color meant they were healing, not that they were getting worse. Good to know. But the hell if I wasnt' going to get that checked out by the doctor. I told Hubba-hubba that I would take him every freaking day until they were gone if that is what I needed to do.
As of this morning, they are substantially subsided. The ones on his arms are almost gone, and the ones on his legs are looking much better.
I have never been more heartfelt in saying "Thank God."