and so we had an off-balance weekend, knowing not to emergency-call the pediatrician, but not quite knowing what TO do and feeling there ought to be something or other.
I decided it must be chicken pox, mostly so I could hold back the discomfort of not knowing. Young Son and FavD were both vaccinated against chicken pox years ago, but it seems there’s a one in ten chance of getting a mild case, anyway. I figured if that’s what it was, oh well, nothing much to do or not do. My coping strategy.
But by Monday morning it was changing fast, more poxy-looking in some places, clearing up already in others. Palms of his hands the scariest. We were smuggled in the secret back door of the pediatrician’s office, so as not to alarm or potentially infect innocent townsfolk.
[I thought snarkily to myself, townsfolk evidently not so concerned when Young Son was the innocent being infected by the unknown and contagious! I know, I know — those culprits, if ideed there were culprits, didn’t know they didn’t know, but we did. . . ]
We were held in a somewhat tense isolation area until, under the practiced eye of a childhood disease vet and father of five himself, we knew more clearly what we did not know. Relief mixed with renewed anxiety at the same time. Not chicken pox, but what was it? Dunno. A specialist was found and alerted, agreed to work us in for an exam early this morning — dermatology, thank goodness, not some exotic quarantined federal CDC facility! 🙂
This morning the poxy proxies were different again but not exactly better, so we went in. Young Son has improbably had his first biopsy now, and I had to call the piano tuner to tell him we’d be late.
I think — do not know — that even in my ignorance both sensitive, complex expressive instruments are gonna be fine. But how? I don’t know, it’s a mystery.