No Better

The clinic decided today that they wanted to see me after all, as my athsma and wheezing are worse and my other symptoms are no better. The doctor had determined that yes, I just may have H1N1. The only trick is, it's probaby too late to start Tamiflu (the anti-viral med they use to treat H1N1) for it to be effective. They suggest starting it one to two days after onset of symptoms, and I am on day 3. Hmm, perhaps that's why I called yesterday.

The doctor was running a bit behind, like by 30 minutes, and I began sorting through the pictures on my phone. 160 was getting obnoxious, so I started deleting. And as I got towards the end, I came across these, taken of somebody's teeny tiny baby:

Dr. Tamiflu still hadn't come, so I indulged myself in reading some Hollywood smut. Just as I almost forgot that I wasn't sitting in the clinic room for the purpose of having uninterrupted time to read about the life and times of Patrick Swayze, he walked in. My heart history and athsma throws me into a category that makes some physicians, especially ones that haven't met me, a bit nervous and lost. This doctor was awesome and we came up with a plan together. I did start Tamiflu anyway, just in case it might be effective, along with some steroids upon my reqeust. I love being a nurse-doctor. I think he was grateful, too.

Since today's doctor visit, Michael has told me not to touch him and to stay away from Oliver. Something about that H1N1 possibility has officially made me leperous. I personally don't need a label to know that I feel like crap and that everyone should stay the hell away. Michael planned to continue to take full care of Oliver today, and tomorrow his Auntie Val is graciously watching him at her house while Michael fulfills his obligation to play some all-day-long video game with his brother-in-law. It's fabulous knowing I can just rest, sleep, and take care of myself. But I so miss Oliver. He's right here in front of me, snooozing a couple feet away, but a day without picking him up, cuddling and kissing his cheeks is getting to me a bit.

Today he woke up in his carseat after we got home from picking up my prescription, wailing impatiently for a bottle. As Michael made his bottle, Ollie's face was his classic tomato red, tomato red with ginormous tears, and I couldn't wipe them away. I excused myself and went to the garage, and sat in the car to disinfect it with antibacterial wipes as I had driven it an hour ago. Then I shut the door. In my ears, congestion rang loud, but I couldn't get Oliver's cries out of my head. I sat in the car until the garage motion-sensor light went out. Then sat a little more in the dark, began to cry, and prayed for strength to get through this, the hardest part of being sick.