3 am Eternals
It’s 3 am and I’m staring at the digital reading on the thermometer, trying to decide where my line is before the numbers stop flashing. The line where I decide that I’m not overreacting, that the waves of dry heat coming off of Regan are indeed serious enough to warrant medical attention.
But, it’s 3 am. And I don’t have a car. What I do have is another child sleeping in the next room as I sit here with this feverish, listless baby in my arms, desperately calculating what number I can live with. A child who will have to be woken up and bundled into a cab to spend the rest of her night sitting in an emergency room should that magic number appear on the thermometer.
This is the hard part of being a solo mom. The part that reminds you that while all parenting is a high wire act, when you do it without a partner, you’re working without a net. There’s no one here to stay with Sabrina if I do decide that I have to take Regan to the hospital. Worse, there’s no one to talk to about it. No one to soothe my fears or to help decide what that magic number should be.
It’s 3 am and I’m the one with all the responsibility here. Tthe closer that readout gets to the arbitrary number I’m willing it away from, the more I feel it; no matter how supportive my family and friends are, I’m the one who has to deal with this. Who needs to figure out how to balance the needs of both my daughters against the limited resources at my disposal.
As the blinking green numbers begin to slowly climb above my mental line, I wish I wasn’t sitting here alone in the dark. It would be nice not to be the only one slowly freaking out as Regan’s temperature rises. To help decide how high is too high. To distract me from thoughts of febrile seizures and other side effects. To hold the baby while I pee. It would be nice, but it really wouldn’t change anything; I’d still be sitting here, holding my feverish daughter and wondering if I have cab fare to the hospital.
I’m not a nervous mother. Tonight is one of a handful of times I’ve used our thermometer since receiving it as a shower gift 8 years ago. I know the mommytricks. I know that fevers spike at night. That you can piggyback Tylenol and Motrin to break a fever. I even know that it’s ok to let a fever run its course unmedicated.
104.6. That’s where the thermometer finally stops. Before the numbers started climbing I’d decided on 104. Anything above 104 was too high. 104 was my freak out line. But that was before the thermometer stopped at 104.6. That was when I thought there was no way it would make it to 104. Now what?
How much does that .6 matter? Does it change anything? I’ve still got another daughter sleeping in the next room, and I’m still not certain about the cab fare. I could call my parents; I’m sure they’d help out. But nobody really likes to be woken up at 3 am, not even for .6 degrees.
Regan is sleeping now. Still scorching hot to the touch, and whimpering softly, but sleeping in my arms. Should I wake her? Or wait? It’s my responsibility to decide how important those six tenths of a degree really are. Like so many other decisions, it’s all up to me.
I reason that it’s far more acceptable to wake someone up for a most likely unnecessary ride to the hospital at 6 am than at 3 and decide to wait. If she’s still burning up in a couple of hours, then I’ll call in the cavalry.
When her fever breaks around 5 I’m drained, but exhilirated too. I didn’t fall off the high wire. But I still really need to pee.