Doctor, Doctor

E has had few trips to the doctor in his three years on this earth, but those he has had have been memorable and -- at least for the Js -- frightening. When he was 11 days old, when the Js were still waking on the hour to check his breathing at night, E developed a white coating on his clean cat mouth, a sure sign of thrush. The Js panicked at the sight of this mogey tongue and whisked him to the walk-in clinic. The well meaning doctor on duty prescribed an antifungal medicine that induced projectile vomiting but, in the end, got the job done. At their next midwife appointment the Js learned they could have chosen a simple and much gentler dose of gentian violet. Next time, they promised, hoping there would not be a next time.

Then a week before E's first birthday he took a dreadful tumble down the stairs at his grandparents' house. A gate had not yet been fastened and a make-shift block failed to keep the eager explorer from edge. J was within sight but not within reach and will never forget the feeling of panic and the aftershocks of guilt that lasted...well, years. She sobbed as much as he did, even though no bones were broken. Nothing was bruised. They took yet another trip to the walk-in clinic where J read pamphlets about head injuries and the signs to watch for. The good doctor took as much care with the shaken mother as she did with the toddler, who'd already forgotten about his fall.

Earlier this week, the Js noticed their boy scratching at a bite on his forearm, just below the crook of his elbow. Mosquitoes, they figured. Possibly fleas. It's the season. But when the bite transformed into a distinct and threatening bullseye pattern, fears of Lyme disease raised their ugly heads. J had heard on the radio about a break-out on the mainland and he was quick to match the mark on E's arm to a frightful array of photos on various websites. Get it checked out, he urged, and the next day they did. Poor E spent over an hour in that very same clinic, with that very same patient doctor, and in the end he was sent for blood tests and given a prescription for a heavy dose of antibiotics.

 E was a real trooper at the lab the next day. He sat on his daddy's lap as the nurse explained what would happen. "But how will you take my blood?" E asked and when the nurse showed him the needle he pulled in his arm. "I've changed my mind," he said. His daddy promised he'd sit with him and tell the story of The Gravedigger, the monster truck who lost a wheel going over a big jump and kept on going. He promised a treat of E's choosing when it was all over, ice cream, cookies, anything his little heart desired. E agreed and sat still and brave as the needle went in, watching with steady eyes. He said "Ow" only once, when the needle was starting to ache, but he didn't cry and he didn't pull away. Afterwards he got a Snoopy bandaid, but he told his mommy it was a "Snow-pea". Such a brave little sausage.

In 2 weeks time, after the antiobiotics have run their course, the Js will have to take their little man back to the lab for another blood test. They may or may not know at that point whether they're dealing with Lyme or just a nasty scare. Either way, the Rioux famille is getting a taste of what it means to stare a serious illness in the face.