Shot through the Thigh

The boys had their 15-month checkups yesterday morning. We’ve been through this routine before: Check-in, wait in a tiny room, let the nurse take vitals,* wait some more, talk to the doctor, wait for shots, and go home with screaming children. Sometimes the office spices things up by adding a student doctor between the nurse and the pediatrician, which can be a lot of fun when the student obviously has no interest in pediatrics, is only fulfilling the rotation because it’s required, and is actually a little terrified of children and the awesome, fun-sucking responsibilities accompanying them.

The little variable they threw at us this time was giving the boys one shot each. They’ve had to endure multiple shots at their previous checkups, peaking at a record four each last time. Not that it mattered much to the boys since one prick hurts almost as much as four pricks. A talented nurse can administer all four shots during the same scream, helping the child multitask his wailing into four shots worth of pain management.

Ian received the first shot. I comforted him for a minute while the nurse affixed a bandage over the site, and set him on the ground when his screaming had receded from “panicked.” We repeated the process with Tory, and then gave Ian another bandage after Abbie ripped it off his thigh. She loves stickers, and a body sticker was too enticing to not steal.

With the boys packed into the stroller and Abbie proudly displaying her Daffy Duck bandage on her pant leg, we returned home. We’d had a full morning, and the kids could now look forward to a relaxing day of sneaking snacks while I’m too busy catching up on my morning chores to notice where Abbie is climbing.

I cleaned for a solid 15 minutes after returning home before setting the boys down and preparing lunch. After lunch, I returned to cleaning, working on the dishes that had piled up, and the aquarium that had greened up. About the time I worked up to toilet scrubbing, Tory started screaming. I assumed he was mad about being locked out of the bathroom while I played with toxic chemicals, and ignored him until the bowl was noticeably less offensive.

When I opened the door, he was beyond panicked. I spent the next hour trying to calm him down before naptime with little success. I tried bouncing him, singing to him, taking him outside, playing with toys in front of him, reading to him, shoving aside the book Abbie dropped in my lap so I could continue reading to him, dangling the phone in front of him, and finally setting him in his crib and ignoring him. Nothing, not even the phone, could break his screams for more than a few seconds.

Eventually, a bead toy caught his attention long enough for him to catch his breath. Abbie was nice enough to let him watch while she played with it, and I used that time to finish a couple pre-nap duties. When I returned, Tory was asleep on the floor, passed out from exhaustion.

I set everyone down for a nap, and started work on supper. I fed everyone when they awoke, and kept working on my supper. Tory, who rarely complains as long as he has food in front of him, was screaming before the microwave could warm my spaghetti. Ellie and I took turns holding him so we could eat.

I believe Tory had a nasty reaction to his shot. He gets four shots with no side effect worse than sore thighs, but is floored after taking one shot. He was cranky and feverish for the night. Ellie spent most of the snuggling with him for comfort for maybe the first time since his NICU days. A little ibuprofen helped him sleep last night. We’re hoping he recovers quickly; all that screaming sucks the fun out of parenting.

* Standard measurement statement: Tory is a little under 22.5-pounds, and about 30.5-inches long. Ian is a little over 21-pounds, and about 30-inches long.