Last week during Spring Break, my son was gifted with taking along a friend for a drop-off day at an amusement park. Those weasels went non stop well into the evening. Unfortunately, he worked up a pretty wicked big blister on his big toe. It's been a week, and it looks awful and infected. Yuck. To add insult to injury, he also managed to catch a cold (I swear, they are created and bred at amusement parks and on grocery cart handles) and couldn't play with his band/orchestra at the Nixon Library this week. Between the cooties and the boo boo, he's a pretty miserable young man. We're particularly concerned because the school band is traveling to Seattle on Thursday, departing at (ugh!) 4 a.m., traveling in a suit and tie, sightseeing all day and not getting to their hotel room until approximately 10 p.m. Can you tell that the person planning four days like this doesn't have any children? Sigh. So last night we were watching Lost (gotta love Netflix - no commercials!) and I heard snuffling sounds in the dark, and wincing motion with his foot. I sat down next to him and asked if he was worried, trying to reassure him that we'd see the doctor today and get him all fixed up for Seattle. He looked at his toe and sniffled, "Does this mean I might be a diabetic like Dad?" The poor little guy. Dad got a blister when we were snorkeling in Hawaii last year and didn't pay attention to the developing infection. I noticed his foot and called the doctor immediately, resulting in antibiotics delivered both by needle and pills. I reassured Kevin that with our family history of diabetes, he has every opportunity to make good choices and head it off at the pass. No more emptying an Easter basket overnight, or downing one of those giant milk carton shaped boxes of fishy crackers in two days. So we're off to the doctor at noon, then we start packing for his trip. We'll talk about art projects while we're waiting to see the doctor to get his mind off of his worries.
This is when I feel like a good mom. With full military dependent medical coverage available to us, my own mother never took us to the doctor, not when we had blister-covered tonsils, or when my sister fell and her bottom teeth cut all the way through her lip, or when I was shocked when my hand slipped into the wires of the pool pump switch (for the year we lived in a house that didn't sit on wheels) when ordered to turn it off in the rain without shoes or a flashlight. Thanks, Dad. Good one. I'm happy to take care of my cootie bug.
