On Friday, when I picked up Alex from daycare, I noticed something on his nose. A red dot.
By Saturday, there were several red dots. I wasn't sure what they were, so I did what any good mother would do.
I googled it.
I typed "red splotchy facial rash" into my search engine and diagnosed him, tentatively, as having Rocky Mountain Spotted Fever.
Which is, apparently, quite serious.
Lethal, even, it said.
I looked at Alex, who was noisily playing with his trucks. He didn't look at all like the picture on the Internet, where the afflicted was laying on his back, mouth agape in an apparent cry of distress, his body covered in angry lesions.
But still. I decided I had better take him in.
So I took him to the doctor, reluctantly. I am naturally suspicious of doctors that work on Saturdays.
All of the legit doctors work Monday-Friday. The ones that can't afford their malpractice insurance have to pick up an extra shift. But I had no choice. It's not my fault these things always crop up on a weekend.
I took a seat next to someone after registering, offering an apologetic smile. She looked a little nervous when she saw Alex's little splotchy face.
I felt kind of bad sitting next to her, because it would be sad if she ended up catching Rocky Mountain Spotted Fever from him, being that it's lethal and all. Although, being a tick borne illness, I wasn't sure if she could catch it like that. Nonetheless, I promised myself that I wouldn't let him share a straw with her, which I probably wouldn't have anyways-- being that I'm naturally suspicious of people that want to share sodas with random kids.
It took a long time, but finally we were called in.
The good news is that it wasn't Rocky Mountain Spotted Fever. Google lied to me.
The bad news is that, whatever it was (the doctor wasn't sure himself) - it was quite contagious.
So yesterday found me driving my little splotch head up to Candle Lake, to be with his grandma and grandpa, since he can't go to daycare for a week or so.
I miss Splochy Splotch.
Even though he's actually pretty bad, and he does have a propensity to throw things at me. And bite sometimes, although not very hard. It doesn't hurt that bad and doesn't leave any marks, so it's all good.
But anyways, it will be OK.
I have a busy week this week.
I'm going to attend my first writing function: a reception for the new Writer in Residence here. Saskatoon, I'm told, has quite a supportive writing community and I should be out there, meeting people. For some reason I've always been nervous about using the title 'writer'. Even on here, you'll notice it says 'wannabe writer.'
But it's time to stop being a wannabe.