We are on pins and needles, waiting for the shoe to drop.
It starts early in the week, with thicker speech and extra saliva. Sure signs of a sore throat. Restless, thirsty nights.
We wait. We know. Even though we hope not this time.
These fevers, while they may be benign to her body, are not benign to our life. To her life. They've become so predictable. I once read a book with a story line involving Munchausen by Proxy. I know this is me, that I'm not doing this. But I can't help but wonder, if I didn't expect these fevers perhaps they wouldn't come.
All week I was just hoping she'd hold out until Friday. Gracie has been asking to go to Sea World, and I so desperately wanted to make it happen. I went to bed early on Wednesday night and forwent exercising Thursday morning to make sure I had the energy. All for them.
We did it! We made it to Sea World. The morning was cool, which the girls felt like was a great opportunity for fall-like clothes. And sparkle-y glitter shoes.
The day warms up, as it usually does during the Fall in San Diego and they are hot and sweaty. But enjoying the day regardless.
My nephew came along for the fun. Here they are checking out two polar bears.
We throw caution to the wind and skip naptime, staying until it's time to pick big sister up from school.
Sure enough, I'm right. It was coming. She held out just long enough. By bedtime she's telling me she has a fever, even though I've taken her temperature and it's normal.
It breaks my heart that she knows. She knows the feeling in her body of a fever building, even though it doesn't yet register. She chatters and and is cold. "No mama, I have fever" which sounds more like "hab feber".
A few hours after bedtime and she's fussing. The fever monster has arrived.
This is a choreographed dance we know well now. She will be restless all night and it's easiest to have her in bed with me. Bean doesn't sleep as well with her there (and she always ends up kicking him) so he sleeps in her bed. Plus he's going to work and I'm off a few more days.
I get up early and run before he has to leave, knowing Lilybug will be on the couch when I get home, unable to sleep any longer. I need to get the twitches out of my legs and my soul, before heading into a long day of doing what I was made to do, be a mom. I love it; I love being needed, being able to comfort, but it does take a toll on days like these. Running provides the energy and the centering that I need.
This time though, there is a light at the end of the tunnel.
I pray, hope, believe. This is the LAST FEVER.
Or at least the last fever of this nature. We had an appointment this week with an Ear, Nose and Throat doctor and even though it isn't a sure fix, they agree that a tonsillectomy is a good option. Many children with periodic fever syndrome who have their tonsils removed have the fevers completely disappear. They don't really understand the link between the two, but it's there.
I had no idea what to expect for timing, even if the doctor agreed with us that surgery was a good choice. The doctor hesitated at first, expressing a desire to consult with the immunologist we've been seeing. But we continued talking and discussing. And suddenly, like a light switch was turned she says "let's go ahead and get the process started."
That switch, I fully believe was the result of many prayers being offered up on Lily's behalf--these last months and that day in particular. The favor of God is a powerful thing.
And just like that I'm sitting at a desk, scheduling a surgery date. And the first date offered, was just THREE weeks away. I thought perhaps a few months for a non-emergency, somewhat elective surgery. Again, I feel the favor of God.
Because she's not yet 3, she will spend one night in the hospital. But, been there and done that, so we know what to expect. And I will gladly trade a night in the hospital for three or four less fevers. I had been warned that they may ask us to wait until she was 3 for this purpose. Once again, I know-the favor of God.
Our times are in HIS hands.
So here I sit, with my sweet girl, feverish and dozing on the couch. Embracing this dance we've learned, the music cueing us at the end of each month. Trusting this is the final dance, that we've heard the music for the last time.
We look to the light. His light. Thankful it shines on us.