I must have looked at him wrong.
That's the only explanation I can conjure for why the ER doctor last week gave Zoodle a prescription for what might possibly be the worst pediatric antibiotic ever. It almost makes me jealous of my ancestors who lived in the pre-antibiotic years. We could have just bled him with some leeches and called it good.
The doctor warned me that the medicine might cause Zoodle to have diarrhea. Zoodle, anxious to meet the expectations of adults, has dutifully complied.
But the doc didn't give me the full story. It started when I went through the drive through at CVS Pharmacy to pick up the meds. The pharmacist looked down at the prescription, and then his eyes rose to meet mine. "Looks like you have a deductible," he said. "So it's $124."
He paused. I think when I sighed and said, "Okay," he was relieved. He was probably never more thankful for the glass in between him and the customer. I handed over my Southwest Airlines Visa and was rewarded with a little bottle of medicine (and .00625 of a free airline ticket!)
Knowing how expensive this tummy-destroying medicine is, I'd hope at least it would taste good. (Insert canned laughter.) Zoodle is usually good at taking meds, and at first he did fine.
But the kid is old enough and smart enough to quickly learn what he doesn't like. After a couple of doses, and lips that were tightening more and more upon my approach with the oral syringe, I realized I'd have to use some covert tactics.
One dose went down in a smoothie. Oh, good, I've figured it out, I thought.
Not so fast.
Remember that story of The Princess and the Pea? You know, many girls are claiming to be a princess, but the only real princess is sensitive enough to toss and turn all night thanks to a pea that has been placed under her stack of mattresses. Then when she wakes in the morning, she falls to her death from the top of the huge stack of mattresses. (I might have made up that last part.)
Well, apparently Zoodle is a true prince, because in the story of The Prince and the Prescription, he quickly gained an uncanny ability to detect the taste of medicine in pureed fruit, smoothie, even JELL-O strawberry cheesecake. (Hey, I was desperate.) He'd take a bite or two, then forcefully shake his head, refusing to eat more.
A couple of doses were squirted in the back of his cheek by his mean mommy, while his equally cruel daddy held his head and his hands still. A small amount might have made it down his throat; the rest he angrily spit out. We went one whole day without even trying to get him to take the medicine, at our wits' end.
Finally yesterday I managed to get him to take his meds, by putting just a drop in each bite of food. It's not the easiest way to feed him--squirt a tiny bit onto his hot cereal, scoop up a bite, feed him, repeat (over and over and over.) But between breakfast and morning snack I got 80% of his dose into his little tummy. As I write this Monday afternoon, I'm hoping the same tactic works tonight. I won't be surprised, though, if our little prince once again proves his royal blood, and, with a sealed mouth and a shaking head, sends us back to the drawing board. (Edited: Even a milkshake couldn't get Zoodle to take the medicine in the evening.)
(And Doc? If we ever head to your ER again, I'll be sure to bring you some cookies and a dazzling smile. You just bring me a better prescription, okay?)