This week, it’s as though we’re starring in our very own medical drama, not just players of supporting roles in someone else’s story arc, but the central characters themselves. That sweet baby of mine can’t quite catch a break recently, having been to the pediatrician thrice plus a visit to the lab at Rady’s in the last three days alone. Not to mention the collection of a urine sample, which required a catheter, and a blood test that took one whole hour and two different phlebotomists just to find his vein. I’ve cried many mama tears in my day, but the kind that come from the eyes of a mother watching her baby suffer are the most painful ones to shed.

The good news is that we have a diagnosis, one that is common and relatively mild, a childhood virus that isn’t preventable by any vaccine thank you very much. That doesn’t ease the trauma of the last few days, but it does eliminate the worrying that comes with not knowing what is wrong, but knowing that something isn’t right. I managed to get a little sleep last night so I was much less bleary eyed at this morning’s doctor visit, what should be our last in this particular saga. As the anemia persists, he’ll have yet another blood test next week. And we’ll go from there.

I mentioned on Instagram that in a dozen years of motherhood, I’ve never had to consult a pediatrician on behalf of a sick child. My big kids have been remarkably, uncharacteristically, amazingly healthy. Of course I credit this with the attention we put into the food that we eat, and the fact that we do not ascribe the conventional paradigm of Western Medicine, which is to prevent illness. Instead, I believe in preserving wellness. Even having a baby as sick as mine has been these last few days, I believe in the healing power of the body more than I do any other treatment. Our doctor was so impressed that with fevers as high as his were running, he wasn’t dehydrated. He had maintained his sodium and electrolyte levels strictly through breastmilk, having nursed constantly throughout this whole ordeal. Extraordinary machines, we are.

He’s finally resting more comfortably, sleeping for longer stretches of time. He’s still very clingy when his eyes are open, which had his doctor a little concerned until she took one look at him today and proclaimed him to be in possession of a well honed flair for the dramatic. Wonderful.

This has been challenging for me, I don’t do well when I feel helpless or ineffective, which is about the only way I can describe the agony that is having to restrain your own baby during painful and invasive medical procedures. That stubborn Huckleberry has wanted only to be held + walked or bounced, not worn, not cradled, not cuddled, not perched on a seated lap, nothing other than his head on a shoulder in motion, testing my patience and tapping my strength til there’s not much left.

Oh, but how I grateful I am that he is well, that we all are well, and that things are finally finally starting to settle down for us. In general, across the board, which is quite possibly the biggest relief of all.

I’m really, really ready for it to be Spring.