Tuesday, May 12, 2009

Chicken Soup for Violinist

Well. This is not Decadent Housewife reporting from The Hill - Parliament Hill - or any other hill for that matter. Rather, Decadent has been down in the trenches nursing a sick Violinist - somewhat ironically timed over Mother's Day and all. Hopefully this will be the last time I get to do this before handing him over to Roll Kuchen.

Instead of a trip to Ottawa, there were two trips into Town utilizing The Canadian Health Care System (Bow Down and Kiss the Earth) via the emergency department, long and late nights of temperature taking and pharmacy runs, culminating in my desperate phone call to the doctor's office attempting to convince the Rottweiler chained to the front desk, that this was urgent.
"OH!" she growled as I slid the magic little card Canadians value about as much as our debit cards, through her trap door, "He's a BIG boy, not a little boy!"
"He's a sick boy," I snapped back.
"Well, not that big boys don't matter," she retreated.

Now I don't like to complain, but honest, it's a dog fight every time with this woman. Once she stood snarling at GG. Being the engineer type, GG, also stood his ground. "Look," he barked right back, "I'm not going anywhere, until you give up your bone." And it thoroughly annoys me, beyond beyond, that she is NOT A NURSE. No sirree bob - no medical training whatsoever. I know this because the doctor himself told me. She types, she files papers, she slides the little glass window back and forth. She sits there, deciding who does and who does not get to utilize The Canadian Health Care System (Bow Down and Kiss the Earth.) Never mind those little magic cards guaranteeing Canadians access to universal health care.
What's a mother to do? It doesn't matter how old our babies are - we ache when they do. I've been soothing him with homemade chicken soup and little cups of jello, which I'm sorry to say is something I find close to anathema. Have you read the ingredients list on the side of a box of jello? Frankly, it reads more like something for scrubbing toilets. Sometimes, when we are sick, we do things we wouldn't ordinarily do. Jello and pop are two which come to mind. He managed some tapioca pudding and yogurt to counter the bad things antibiotics do. I soaked goji berries in green tea, then pulverized the plumped berries along with some blueberries and mixed that all up with yogurt and honey and he was able to let it all slide down a very inflamed sore throat. I'm pushing fluids. Pop. This is Canada. We say pop. But regretfully not Vernor's, which truly, I think is the best when sick.

I have fond memories of drinking Vernor's while sacked out beneath the lilacs on a Navajo blanket my mother brought back from Arizona on her honeymoon and throwing up into a bucket. My brother was less couth. He just chose to see how many lilac trunks he could hit with it. The barf - not the bucket. He was always like that. Peeing off the roof. Peeing onto the roof. Tormenting the dog. Anyhow, we were talking about Vernor's. It is one thing a sick person can ingest and not feel repulsed by when well again, but I couldn't find any. Oh, and speaking of being repulsed, I did not use Violinist's chickens for his soup. The thought of killing anything that once resided in The Shop from Hell and then eat it...

5 comments:

AngelMc said...

Stand your ground with that ole hussy.
And stand in the gap for your son. I hope he feels better soon.

Leila said...

It's terrible when one's children are sick, but when they are boys...somehow it's worse...because boys are so helpless...and then they grow up to be helpless men, like big babies...

I have a very funny speech for you to read about health care:

http://www.hillsdale.edu/news/imprimis/archive/issue.asp?year=2008&month=01

If you are not hooked by the first paragraph...

Decadent Housewife said...

And hamper caring for sick loved one's with a sick system. So frustrating.

Thanks for the link. I've read him before. He is excellent, funny and true.

Confusifying Linguification said...

Hearing your thoughts on the Rottweiler makes me giggle, because I can picture co-workers. But then I stop giggling and wonder what's said about me . . .

Amy said...

You have a way of truly painting the picutre... I am cracking up. If only the rottweiler could read about herself...LOL!

Amy