Friday, November 4, 2011

Children Are Our Future

A few weeks ago, Richard and I took the girls to visit their grandma in the hospital.  Halfway through the visit, AFTER hugs and kisses, she told us she has MRSA. MRSA is a highly contagious, highly antibiotic-resistant staph bacteria.  On our way out of the visit, the nurse sternly told us to go home and shower immediately.  We were appropriately horrified, and went home to take some nice long Silkwood showers.

The next day, we told the girls to watch for red bumps, after explaining what MRSA was and why we were to be watchful. We had our We're Serious But Don't Be Scared faces on.  They listened soberly, and then continued hitting each other with magic wands and shrieking.

Since then, our little hypochondriac Jessica has been telling us about every single tiny red dot on her entire body.  Last night, there were three on her thigh. They're nothing. Dry skin, or a rogue capillary, perhaps a wee pimple. They were smaller than the tip of a ballpoint pen.

I am so tired of those searching eyes, that gleeful, hopeful anticipation that something will be terribly wrong.  I asked her last night if she's very worried about MRSA.  Eyes shining and lips twitching trying not to smile, she tugged a frown into place and said, Yes, Mommy. 

I asked her if she'd like to see pictures of MRSA.  She nodded soberly.  Shining.  Twitching.

I googled "MRSA infection" on my phone.  To save you a new tab on your browser, click here for what I found.  (Do NOT click if you are pregnant or think you may be pregnant, have a delicate stomach, or are having a snack right now. Just sayin'.)

I told her they're pretty gory, and asked if she was sure.  She said yes.  I slowly turned my phone screen toward her.  She looked for about 3 seconds, literally turned on her heel and said, Well, I don't have THAT.  She looked a bit green around the gills. 

I think I may have seen the last of the Red Dot Brigade.

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