Signs of Life

It's funny that extreme fear would effect me like this, but I have two slow motion memories of my toddler.

The first happened when she was still too young to walk. We'd been making some repairs on the house and there was some excess wood lying in the driveway. It forced me to park at the end of the drive. I was carrying her hugged up against my chest, left hand behind her head, right hand on her back when I tripped.

All I could see was that fragile little skull, heading directly for the pavement, the full weight of her mommy following. I kept desperately trying to pull her up, away from the concrete, but nothing was happening. She just kept getting closer and closer to that aged concrete slab.

That's all that stuck in my head. I don't remember anything after that until I was sitting at the side of the driveway, clutching my baby and crying. My ankle was killing me, I was bruised and bleeding from assorted scrapes, but she was completely unharmed. Frightened and crying, but safe.

Today, a little after 2 p.m., I sat at her side, watching the numbers ticking over on a digital thermometer, and pleading under my breath, "Please stop, please stop."

When it did, it read 104.7.

Three-tenths of a point away from the danger zone of 105.

She woke up early from her nap, sobbing pathetically in a way I've never heard her do before. When I went in to check on her I found she was burning up, and though awake and aware, utterly limp. I checked her temperature, called my husband to come home from work so we could take her to the hospital, then started running a lukewarm tub. I had to climb in with her so I could hold her up. She hadn't stopped sobbing the whole time, and just slumped forward into the water every time I let go of her. We sat there, my arms wrapped around her torso, hugging her to my chest as if she was still tiny, trying not to cry as I kept talking to her, trying to get her to respond to me.

The bath got her temperature down to around 103. It wavered there for 3 1/2 hours before finally returning to normal.

I suppose, to a more experienced mommy, this would be an unhappy, but not panic-inducing experience. I have to tell you though, watching that temperature keep clicking closer to 105 is right up there in my list of most frightening memories. I didn't know where it would stop, how long it had been that high, or what damage might have been done. There've been so many flu deaths in our state, so many little children lost. She's had the flu shot, but some of those children did too. And she was so limp.

She's fast asleep now. I keep checking her for another fever. Then I watch her breathe for a while, just because.