Horse With No Name on Love: It Takes a Bit of Yuck

Whoever said nothing much happens in the desert obviously hasn't visited the HWNN corral.

We've been blighted with high drama when we least expect it, usually when Mr HWNN is away on business, leaving me to saddle up and take the reins.

It usually involves one or all members of the family falling ill from some debilitating virus or infection, at a level of intensity never experienced before when we lived in Singapore.

Pumpkin, who turned one in April, is at that age where everything and its cousin winds up in her gut. So it's no surprise that she often plays the role of screaming femme fatale, fending off some mysterious B-grade bug that's decided to inhabit her tiny system.

Mmm... strep-throat virus... tasty...

Most times, she stars in re-runs of “The Endless Throat and Ear Infection of Terror”. But older sis Sweet Pea, never to be outdone, will follow that up in true diva style with “A Clockwork Stomach Bug” - the sequel to “Naked Lunch, All Over My Pillow”. (I won't give away the ending.)

Occasionally, both of them collaborate on a not-so-original but highly underrated version of "Fever of Scary New Heights”.

It took me a while to get used to the health-care system in Arizona. For one thing, there aren't any walk-in general practice clinics in our area, something we tend to take for granted in Singapore.

The handful of pediatric clinics nearby are strictly by-appointment and are usually booked solid. The only thing in between that and the hospital - in terms of levels of health care - are the urgent care facilities, where you sometimes wait two hours or more to see a doctor (or assistant physician) about vomiting/minor injuries/high fever situations.

In our early days here, I would often find myself having to make the the rounds of no less than three of these health-care facilities in order to figure out what new bug we were facing and how to beat it.

It was one of those hair-tearing, gut-wrenching experiences that I've now to come to terms with. Mostly because I have little hair left to tear out, and not much stomach left to spar with medical staff.

After months of trudging through the muck of pill bottles, bags of sick, and enough ice packs to stop global warming, I composed a long and angry tirade about the state of health care here in AZ. In summary: They no likey give out medications here, especially for de little kids. You mommy go pharmacy buy whatever you think is good for 40 degree fever... like ice pack. Or Ibuprofen. Okie dokie? Bless you.

Psst... hey buddy. Need some nasal spray? Check the pharmacy in my kitchen cabinet.

So why have I only posted the gist of it, and not the whole thing? Well, I thought shaking my fist (and certain unnamed digits) at the medical system would make me feel better. Truth is, it didn't.

After re-reading that post about 120 times, I thought, gosh, what a lot of whinging and moaning going on... to what end? What was the point of all that anger, when the medical practitioners I was angry with probably don't even read these posts?

So I decided it was more constructive to think like a virus: whatever doesn't kill us only lets us live to multiply and become stronger and more evil, and perhaps take over the universe. Right?

Let me illustrate: One time, the girls were running a back-to-back marathon of "The Stomach Flu Trilogy", when my body decided it wanted in on the action too. Because Mr HWNN was away (of course), I had the pleasure of driving us all to the doctors (three), the pharmacy (two) and the grocery store (just one) to pick up pills, pedialyte and porridge. All while battling a 39 degree C fever.

Now before you think, “poor HWNN”, I ask you this: which family hasn't gone through this sort of thing in some sort of permutation? Some of you reading this may have even gone through worse on your own. (I can tell you're nodding vigorously, going – Yeah, we went through all that AND we wound up in the ER too! With NO MONEY, OR PANTS! Hah!)

I suppose I could have asked for help. But I have this bad habit of preferring to soldier on until my limbs fall off, because that's just how we do things in my family.

Despite my stubborn idiocy, I think the girls and I were remarkably fortunate to have weathered that madness as well as we did.

And here's the coming out stronger part: No matter how tired, angry and frustrated I might have felt then, I don't want to post a story about what an awful time we're having.

Because we're not.

See, here's Sweet Pea, none the worse for wear, and up way past her bedtime painting a little surprise for her friend. As I watch her - all dizzy with excitement over what colour she's going to use next - I'm grateful.

Grateful we came through that mess in one piece. Grateful that I'm blessed with lovely friends and neighbours, who messaged or Facebooked me during my radio silence to see if we were all still alive. (One of them even came to check on us, just when I had about given up and was having a silly sob fest, bless her heart.)

I'm grateful to the one good doctor out of the tangle of doo-doo-heads we met, who rang me up after hours when everything was falling apart, and called in medication for me to pick up, so that I wouldn't have to wait for hours in long queues with two very sick kids.

I'm even grateful to the grocery store delivery guy for being so polite and helpful when he brought us our much needed weekly supplies. (Yeah, it only took me a million years before I discovered a grocery store here that made deliveries!)

I'm grateful to the pharmacists who took the time to reassure me that things were going to be okay, who explained in detail how that the multitude of medications we were on weren't going to make us see little spiders crawling on the ceiling. (A deep-seated fear. And very real!)

I'm grateful to my parents, who Skyped us very day to keep our spirits up. And even though Mr HWNN missed all the action, I'm actually grateful he was away. Seriously. Because he escaped the big bad bugs and came home healthy and whole and ready to sweep me off my feet.

On a side note: To the unhelpful folks I encountered, those who told me they couldn't do anything for my sick kids, or ignored my pleas for help or doctor's appointments, I'm going to say, peace be with you. And guess what? I'm grateful to you too, because you've taught me that I have even more unknown reservoirs of emotional strength than I thought.

The miracle of ice-packs. They make you think you're on-snow.

Through the haze of sick, the kids and I had our own brand of fun. We had a Sesame Street revival, curled up on the sofa amongst blankets and buckets, watching endless old episodes and laughing at the way Pumpkin got super excited at the theme song.

When she wasn't screaming from the fever-induced headaches, Sweet Pea and I would time how fast ice packs melted against her hot, hot, hot forehead. (Turns out, REALLY quickly!)

And we had slumber parties every single night, all squashed in my bed, the kids taking turns to snort or snore warm, slimy breaths down my neck, while I stayed up to check temperatures and administer medication.

In hindsight, it was glorious to spend this time with them. Because really, who needs that much sleep anyway? Not me.

Now, as Sweet Pea puts the finishing touches on her little project, I'm grateful that my beautiful girl is back to her effervescent self. And when I get annoyed at her hyperactivity, I try to remind myself of the time when she was a limp dish towel, and how un-fun that was.

As one very wise seven-year-old once told me: Sometimes it takes a bit of yuck to make you see the good stuff.

It most certainly does.