Ellie has been ill since Sunday with her annual 105 fever. It comes on suddenly and with no other symptoms besides a clear, runny faucet for a nose. For the first time ever, they find a reason for the fever. She has tonsillitis. But not strep throat. But possibly mono. (I know!)
In fact her tonsils pretty much close off her throat and even though she says her throat doesn't hurt, this would explain her lack of appetite. The past three days her little body has burned with fever. She whispers to herself a steady stream of soft stories and when I ask her what she's saying she informs me I'm just telling the people (the ones I can't see) words, not you. In the small hours of the morning before the sun comes up and the rest of house is sleeping peacefully, she tosses in her bed and calls out random snatches of conversations.
I can't touch that star. Can you get that star?
I wanna ride that doggy.
No! No! I'm not going.
Strange, restless words. That last hour before she can have her next dose of Motrin is the hardest. She wakes enough to ask for some soda to drink and a cool cloth for her back. The cloth heats up, wicking the fever out.
Turn it over mommy. Can you get more water on it?
I rub the cloth up then down one arm. She lifts the other arm and I do it again. She hates the cloth anywhere near her face. She flips on to her tummy and asks for me to rub it on her back some more. After 45 minutes and another dose of Motrin, the fever has cooled to a respectable 102. She looks up, her eyes in a question
Make me a nest on the couch, mommy?
When the nest is made, she asks to sit on my lap and snuggle me. I hold her and brush my fingers across the skin on her back.
Mom, I can't feel your nails (which is her way of asking for a scratch).
I scratch an ocean on her back and she melts into me. And then, in all earnestness
Mom, if you were 20 60 would you be dead? Cuz 20 60 is a long time ta live.
It would be so bored.