Pinkeye has spread through Ben’s daycare, and we both woke Tuesday with crusted eyelids and red whites. (H has escaped so far.) After having read the Children’s Hospital Guide to Children’s Health, I was convinced we needed this checked out right away. We were able to get an appointment at the afterhours clinic, where the MD found conjunctivitis, swollen lymph nodes, and one swollen eardrum that was not draining. (Cue Ben’s gasping mother, almost one year since his myringotomy.)
The MD decided to play it conservatively and give us only eyedrops, to be administered every three hours while awake.
Ben is a trooper when it comes to medications, and has been very brave, but he met his match in the eyedrops, as did his mother. (I tried them on my pinkeye, and yes, they stung quite a bit, even for a grownup.) He became a tight muscular ball, resisting and occasionally sending out a firm defensive strike from an available arm or leg. I had to resort to laying over him while trying to get a single drop into each eye, which of course was immediately rinsed with tears.
It has to be one of the lowest experiences of motherhood for me thus far – holding him down is miserable for both of us, and even lollipops make for scant reward. I hope he can recover quickly.