Coxsackied when you least expect it

A sign will be going up at my son's daycare today. Most likely it will read something like this: "One of our children has been diagnosed with hand, foot and mouth disease. This is a common but contagious virus characterized by fever, sores in the mouth, and a rash with blisters. This child will not be in daycare until he has been cleared by a physician, but in an effort to reduce or eliminate an outbreak, please be aware of these symptoms in your child." Or something to that effect.

Guess whose child is necessitating such a sign? Yep, our very own drooly Bubba. All hell broke loose yesterday afternoon around 1 p.m., when my mom called me from home with the news that Bubba had been inconsolable, not eating, not sleeping, not even sucking on the binky (that right there was a huge red flag. Binky can usually solve ANY problem). A call to the doctor, a frantic mid-day shuffling of cars and parents and child, and we were in the doctor's office, getting the news.

It all made sense once we got the diagnosis, although the rash on Bubba's hands and feet was so subtle I would never have suspected it or even noticed. The doctor was able to see two tiny blisters on his lips and showed them to me, but again, I would never have noticed this. Later, in about the second straight hour of him crying in pain, I noticed another blister inside his cheek. And the drool--my god, the drool. This is way beyond teething drool. He soaked a fresh t-shirt all the way down the waist in less than an hour yesterday.

As with all viruses, there's really nothing to do but wait it out using whatever comfort measures you can come up with. The doctor recommended giving Bubba Maalox or Mylanta to coat his mouth, and to even rub it on the rash on his hands and feet. It seemed to help--for about five minutes. Tylenol and Motrin, of course. Cool liquids, popsicles and cool, creamy food. Six straight hours of SpongeBob Squarepants. A lorazepam, and then an hour later a clonazepam, for stressed-out-mommy.

While this is a minor illness, and one that thankfully has a low rate of any complications, our poor Bubba is miserable. I think out of the illnesses we've dealt with so far, which include a couple episodes of nebulizer-required bronchiolitis, ear infections and tube surgery, 9 days of diarrhea, a "puky flu" as my friend LilCherie calls it, and your normal colds and sore throats, this one might be the worst in terms of just how miserable Bubba is (and therefore, everyone else in the house). It's incredibly frustrating to know he is in pain and be able to do nothing substantive about it. Knowing he is exhausted and needs to sleep but being powerless to do anything to ease the pain long enough for him to be able to turn the corner into peaceful slumber.

And the crying. My old arch-nemesis, the crying. I've never been able to "handle" the crying very well. It induces a flight impulse in me that's barely controllable. After the wonderful first little whimper he made in the delivery room that let me know he was alive and breathing, it's all been downhill. I look forward to the age when Bubba can simply moan, whine, or complain, rather than the cry/scream combo that accompanies everything from a minor frustration to full-out illness. But for now, it's ice cream and tears for Bubba AND Mommy...while J. soldiers on in patient, infuriating stoicism.

This is one of those illnesses that, before my son got it, I had relegated to a somewhat limited spectrum of diseases that, for lack of a better word, only "trashy" people get. I know that's horrible, I feel terrible even thinking it, but I strive for brutal honesty in my life so there it is. Other diseases/illnesses/conditions that live in the trashy realm include, but are not limited to, ringworm (and pretty much all other funguses), lice, and impetigo. I know the ridiculousness of this thought pattern. I mean, it's not like the little coxsackie virus is going around choosing whom to invade based on his or her intelligence level, socioeconomic status or predjudices of his or her parents. But still, there's a stigma in my mind with these diseases.

So I guess it's a good lesson, in a way, for my son, my precious, beautiful, intelligent, non-trailer-living son to have caught it. Even though he probably caught it from one of those trashy people.