Organic Blueberries and Strep Throat

So yesterday dawns gorgeous with the promise of a wonderful day. OK, the sun's shining and I'm going to be happy about it. I do my normal internet surf, drink coffee, and get in a good workout before the noise starts. The workers are back in the apartment upstairs, apparently redoing a lot of it before it's ready for new occupants. Yesterday they were laying new carpet, which is not a quiet process. I prepare for a not great work day because of that.

Then, salvation in the form of my mom calls. Or, mom calls wanting to know if I want to go to the organic blueberry farm and pick some berries with her ($2 per pound). Seems like a good idea to me, so I email my boss to let her know I'm going to get a late start, mom picks me up, and off we go.

It takes us about 20 minutes to get there, and it seems like everyone's driving really slowly, like, "hey, it's a pretty day, I'm not in a hurry to get anywhere." We go with that vibe, and we arrive at the blueberry farm pretty relaxed. We get our coffee cans with handles attached (to hook through a belt loop to make 2-handed picking possible), check the map and the sign that tells us where the best picking that day is, and we're off.

The picking of the berries itself felt kind of surreal. The bushes are tall, a lot of them well over my head, and it's really quiet. Voices carry through the fields, and I kind of feel like I'm eavesdropping on a private conversation. But I can't not listen, because the only other talking is that of the two young children, sounds like one baby/toddler and one preschool-age brat who are clearly not happy to be picking blueberries. My kids wouldn't have liked blueberry picking at that age, either. Eventually, though, they leave, and it's quiet again. Mom and I split up for a while and pick side by side for awhile. We pick basically until my coffee can is so full and so heavy that it's pulling my pants down. I tell mom I think I'm good, and she agrees.

That's the time time, naturally, when her left leg goes numb on her (mom has a form of muscular dystrophy ~ FSHD ~ and stuff like that happens to her). So coming out of the field, she takes my arm and we slowly make our way out, as if I'm her prom date escorting her around. I tell her, "this is why you shouldn't do stuff like this by yourself." She tells me that she would have crawled out if she had to, and I reiterate, "no, you don't do stuff like this by yourself anymore." I think she understood.

We get back to the business part of the farm, weigh our berries, figure out how much to pay (it's an honor system), transfer the berries to our containers and get into the car. As soon as we get in the car, my phone rings, which surprised me. Mostly because I didn't think I'd get reception where we were and partly because I rarely get calls on my cell. But anyway, I see that it's home calling, which means That Boy. I answer and he informs me that he's coughing up blood. I tell him we're on the way, and we make our way home. The other drivers are still moving slowly, but this time it annoys me. My baby is coughing up blood! I need to get there.

We arrrive here, and joy of joy, That Boy has recently coughed up some more blood into his sink, and left it there for me to see because he knew I was on my way. I take a look, note that the blood is bright red, and plan my course.

First plan is that I call his doctor's office. I ask if I can speak to the nurse. The receptionist tells me that they're all with patients right now, but she can put me into the voice mail. Having few other options, I take the voice mail. This was at approximately 1:30 p.m. The message on the nurses line tells me that they're short-staffed until 09/04 and that the doctor is only going to be in a half day for the next couple of days. I don't anticipate being able to get him in to be seen today, but I leave a detailed message, hang up and wait for the call back.

Hours pass and no callback. I know that I'm going to have to take That Boy to be seen, so I email my boss again to let her know that I'm going to have to switch my shift and work on Friday (which is supposed to be my day off). Being wonderful, she sends well wishes for the health of TB, and I wait some more for the callback.

Eventually, around 3:30, when it's clear that the callback is not coming soon, if at all, we decide to go to the emergency room. After all, when someone's been coughing up bright red blood, common sense tells you that they should be seen by a medical professional sooner rather than later. The emergency room is surreal, in a completely different way from the blueberry field. It is, however, almost as quiet. There are two hospitals in town and one is much busier than the other. We live a lot closer to the smaller, less populated hospital, so that's where we typically go. I've been to that ER a few times, and it takes longer to fill out the paperwork than it does to get called back to be seen.

That Boy was treated for strep approximately 6 weeks ago. Neither of us really remember quite when, except that it was this summer. He completed his antibiotic course, but it took him around 18-20 days instead of 10 because he's not good at taking medications 3 times a day. We tell the ER staff this, and quite rightly, they want to do another rapid strep test and swab his tonsils. TB does not like this; he gags and is unhappy. I almost remind him that he's 18 and should suck it up, but he's not feeling well, and he is my baby, so I hold back. Soon after this, the doctor comes in, examines him, and we talk about all the strep. TB had strep constantly when he was preschool age, but the fucking mililtary medical types would not take out his tonsils because he didn't have it quite often enough to fit their guidelines. Whatthefuckever.

Anyway, That Boy's strep test is positive. Me, I'm not surprised. Him, very surprised and really quite angry. The doctor, sympathetic and really cool. She prescribes a different antibiotic, one that only needs to be taken once a day, which means he'll finish this course in a timely manner. Then she tells us that he'll need to follow up with his regular doctor and have another strep test when he's done with this course of antibiotics to make sure that the strep is really gone. I think that, like me, she suspects that he's had the strep this whole time and it wasn't completely treated with the last course of antibiotics. Which makes sense to me, because the antibiotic that they gave him at the doctor's office (amoxicillin) is the same stuff that his strep became resistant to 14 odd years ago. With this first diagnosis this year, I almost asked that they prescribe something else, but I kept quiet, which I know is very surprising for me, but sometimes I manage. When it comes to that That Boy and strep, however, I won't be quiet again. That is, if he gets it again, which I sincerely hope he doesn't.

Fortunately because of the general quietness of the hospital, it only takes us about 90 minutes from the time we get there until he's discharged, prescription in hand. Then it's off to the pharmacy to get that filled and on to Subway so he can eat.

And the coughing up blood? Apparently he ruptured a small vessel from coughing very, very hard. Which may or may not have been related to the strep (he's had no other symptoms at all), but it was what got him seen in the first place, and it's stopped now.

And I did eventually get a call back from the nurses. Not until 6:45 last night, and she apologized profusely that no one called sooner. But she agreed that I'd done the right thing by taking him to the ER (which I knew) and told to me to call during the reception business hours to schedule his followup appointment.

So, how was your Tuesday?