Z and I headed out for a walk this afternoon to give Blackie her physical therapy and to make the three block trek to the mailbox. About a third of the way there, Z says conversationally, "Mama, my eye hurts." She rubbed it a little, but showed no signs of distress, so I didn't give it another thought. She has been in drama queen/attention seeking mode since T moved to Wester, so I just figured it was more in that vein.
Fast forward half an hour. We are back at the house and Z comes over to ask for a drink. I notice she has some sleep in her eye. I reach a casual mom finger over there to swipe it out. My thought process went like this: Wow, that was a lot of sleep in her eye! A lot of bilious yellow-green sleep. That is slimy. And when did my four-year-old go on an all night whiskey and cigarette bender? That is one seriously pink eye. Wait a minute...
PINK eyes? OMG! It's PINK EYE! (I was embarrassingly slow on the uptake.) As I run to the kitchen to boil my finger up to the armpit I am amazed that she managed to avoid pink eye for two years in preschool only to be slammed with it once we get to Wester. We haven't even been anywhere! Okay, the pool and a park a week ago, but surely chlorine and blazing sunshine take care of that sort of thing? Ack!
I guess this is just the excuse I need to meet our new pediatrician. Mom-in-law recently attended her 50th nursing school reunion. One of her classmates has been a nurse in Wester for most of those years and she gave me the name of a good pediatrician and permission to drop her name if necessary to get in. But of course, the office was closed. Rats.
Next call is to Dr. Dad-in-law. He immediately blames it on the pool (as he did the mild fever Z ran over the weekend. He is a total germaphobe - not to mention slightly xenophobic - and terrified of the swine flu. He would like it if we never left the house. Ever.) He consulted his PDR and declared it a virus. (Dr. Google declares otherwise.) And recommended that I go in tomorrow anyway. Yay.
Looks like we won't be going to play with Cousin P and her kids on Friday after all. She says that they are particularly susceptible to germies and I would HATE to make this a family affair. I am totally bummed. I was really looking forward to it. Oh, well. I guess we will be living here a long time, so it is not like there won't be other opportunities to get the kids together. But still, wah!
Now if I can just keep the rest of the fam from coming down with it. What do you suppose the CPS stand is hazmat suits?