I never thought I'd use the word urine in a post

Henry's been sick again. When Henry's sick, I get this feeling like I can't breathe, or think straight. I mean, partly because of the sleep deprivation. But there's something else. It's like all my worst fears come out in a cloud to strangle me: Henry's always been so small and so fragile. He gets hit worse by illnesses than other kids. And that combined with the fact that he's not a great communicator just makes me hysterical. He has this random high fever with few other symptoms that made me think he caught some kind of mysterious exotic disease at the zoo last week.

He was sent home from school Friday with a fever around 101 degrees. Over the weekend we measured it at 102.6 a couple times, and 103.7 once (all under his arm). We went to see the doctor Monday. I carried Henry in and he whimpered on my lap the entire hour that we were there. In the end the doctor said his ears were fine, the strep test was negative, and he just has a virus that we need to wait out. They usually last about 72 hours.

OK, thanks. Except it had been about 75 hours already at that point, with no sign of improvement.

I talked to Henry's teacher Tuesday- I knew that the girl he rides to school with had been out sick and wanted to find out what had been wrong with her. It turns out she vomited in the car on the way to school one day (riding in the back seat with Henry). So that must be where this came from, except that she only missed 2 days of school, and Henry seems likely to miss 6. Poor little guy.

He keeps asking to go to the library, which is pretty funny. I'm like "buddy, you need to be able to walk on your own two feet and go to the bathroom on your own before we can make a trip to the library." And he lays there and looks at me with those glassy eyes and his too-rosy cheeks and says "I am feeling better mommy." Sure you are.

We went back to the doctor's office on Wednesday and saw a different doctor in the practice. A young woman this time, fresh out of med school and a new mother to boot. I find that new doctors and female doctors seem to take their time a little more and be more sympathetic. And Henry responds much better to them. He let her check his ears, mouth, feel his abdomen, all with no protest and no help from me (a kind way of saying that I didn't have to hold him down.)

I mentioned that he has been wetting the bed, and that prompted her to check for a urinary tract infection. Instead of stealthily trying to get Henry's urine, I made the mistake of explaining to him "you're going to go pee pee in this cup. And we're going to give it to doctor H. Isn't that funny? That's kind of weird, huh?" And he's looking at me like I'm crazy if I think he's going to cooperate with that.

I begged him several times to go potty, which he of course refused. He also refused to drink anything- smart kid. He kept saying "you don't want it out of a cup!" And I started to realize that he must think we were going to make him drink the urine. That's what you do with something in a cup, after all. So I eventually did what I should have done in the beginning: let him go potty "just in the toilet", hid the cup behind my back, waited until he started peeing, and then reached behind him and caught some.

The urine did show sign of an infection, so we have been on an antibiotic since last night. I had hoped he would feel better quickly and could go on his field trip to the fire station today, but it was not to be.

The worrying just never stops. It ebbs enough that I kind of forget what it feels like to jump up at night when I hear him cough, or check on him obsessively even when he's not coughing. But then we have a week when the worrying is back in full force and it really knocks me on my butt.