by fearandfartleks

People: if you bring your toddler/young child to the ER with a temperature that is rapidly approaching incompatible with life, and if you tell the nurse that no, you did not give said child Tylenol/Motrin/any-sort-of-MEDICATION-that-might-reduce-a-fever (and NO, a tepid bath doesn’t count) and if your reason for not having done so is that your child “would not open their mouth,” please know that all of the ER nurses will be internally rolling their eyes and desperately trying to keep from blurting out, “Um, I’m sorry.  But aren’t YOU the one in charge??”  Yes, getting a sick little one to take that bubble gum-flavored elixir can be challenging.  So I’m going to let you in on a wonderful technique utilized by nurses and parents with a spine everywhere.  It’s called “The Dogpile,” and it goes like this: one of you holds the squirming child down with one arm, using your body weight to keep small extremities controlled.  With the other arm you pry open your child’s jaw.  At the same time, the other parent/caregiver shoves the syringe into your child’s mouth and administers the medication.  Then (and here’s where you’ve got to really communicate with your partner.  Teamwork!) the parent doing the jaw holding quickly shuts the child’s mouth while the medicating parent pinches their nose closed.  And, voila!  Medication administered!  It’s a bit like that scene in Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom – you know, where that crazy Indian guy who likes to rip out people’s hearts and enslave poor village children forces Indy to drink the blood?  So, yes. It is brutal.  But it works.  And it sure beats the pants off of four strange people in blue holding your child down while they are jabbed with a needle multiple times and then catheterized.  But, that’s just my opinion.  Oh, and one more thing.  For the love of all that is holy and right in the universe, please, please, PLEASE purchase a thermometer.  And use it.  The end.


I am writing this post at 4:00 AM.  I have actually been up since 1:15 AM.  This is the curse of working nights, and after exhausting my usual insomnia activities of a) reading, b) lurking on Facebook, c) obsessively pinning any recipe that contains cheese or bacon on Pinterest, and d) checking in with the Klystron 9 weather update like it’s my mother, I decided to take control of the situation and write.  Also my anxious little brain was starting to work overtime and I just. couldn’t. lay. there. anymore.


The Dude and I are going away for three glorious, child-free, ETOH-filled*, zero-responsibility days.  We are leaving this afternoon (or today-TODAY, in night-shift speak, as opposed to today-TOMORROW-today.  It’s okay if you don’t understand this part.  It just means that you’re a day-shifter, and that’s cool.  We can still be friends) so I won’t be posting for a few days.  Before I go and get wildly intoxicated, though, I wanted to follow-up on my last post, “Slump.”


Running was sort of a bust this week, mostly because of the stormy weather, and my planned long run yesterday was cancelled due to a surprise pedicure (a gift from The Dude.  Yes, I know.  He is too good for me).  I did manage to get in two 5-mile runs, one of which was after my post and my statement that I would try to pull myself out of this current rut by not checking my pace every five seconds.  Well, I kept my word (partly because my GPS watch wasn’t working that day and partly because I spent most of the run screaming out colorful expletives at my cheap-ass phone which for some reason decided that it wasn’t going to let me listen to 970 AM.  Yes, I DO listen to talk radio.   I also read books.  And get the newspaper.  I guess I just like to be informed.  I’m sort of quirky and old-fashioned that way).  With the exception of my technical difficulties, I have to admit that my run was actually better.  I did feel a bit lighter, less stressed about my performance.


I got some good advice from a friend of mine (I’ll call her Preceptor #2) in a response she wrote to “Slump,” the general tone of which was basically to put on my big girl pants and quit whining.  She said, “Run because you can.”  I really like that. No frills, no complexities.  Simple, real, honest – brutal, even.  Sort of like “The Dogpile” technique.  Sometimes you just have to do a thing, and maybe it’s a choice, or perhaps it’s a necessity.  Don’t over-think.  Face it.  Embrace it.  Enjoy it.  Or, in the words of General Patton, “Grab the sons-of-bitches by the nose and kick ‘em in the pants!”  Okay, I know he was talking about the Germans here, but it still applies to goals, to work, to running – or to wrangling febrile toddlers.



*ETOH: hospital-speak for any type of alcohol.  As in, “I’ve got an 88-year-old male here, was found sleeping in a parking lot.  Vital signs are normal.  Appears to have some ETOH onboard.” Translation: drunk homeless guy.