Diagnosing chickenpox

Health warning: graphic (yet humorous) descriptions of sick toddler to follow. Turn away now if you’re squeamish.

The usual way for us to tell if Alex is ill is whether he is throwing up all over the house. He barfs at the slightest provocation. Mild fever? Puke. Something caught in his throat? Hurl.

So his behaviour last weekend was odd to say the least. On Saturday evening we were sitting around the living room just before his bathtime, when Alex said he was going to be sick. We snapped to attention and had a kitchen bowl by his side in seconds. Nothing came of it, though. He went to bed with the bowl by the side of his bed, and he was fine all through the night.

The following morning, he was feeling a little warm. Not a raging fever by any means, but definitely an elevated temperature. Certainly nothing that would deter us from our usual weekend cinema trip, so we bundled out of the house to see Cheaper By The Dozen. We bought our usual drink, packet of sweeties, and bag of popcorn to share. But although Alex had expressed great interest in buying them, he didn’t eat more than a couple of sweets, and only had a sip or two to drink. Then, as we were most of the way through the film, he turned to me, and in a small voice said, “I have to be sick.”

A rapid exit followed. By the time we got to the toilet, though, he said he was feeling fine again, and only wanted to pee before returning to catch the end of the film.

The rest of Sunday progressed fairly normally. He stayed mildly fevered, and his appetite never returned, but he remained in excellent spirits. We met up with my parents and some friends of theirs from the Netherlands (hi Paul & Mini!), and hung out at the Scottish National Gallery of Modern Art, and the Dean Gallery. (Both of which rock to an enormous extent, by the way. Beautiful settings, relaxing and pretty places to just hang out, and spectacular collections of important art. Good cafés. We’re adding these to the list of places that we must take visitors when they come to stay with us.) Alex was very tired when we got to the end of the day, though.

On Monday, he was not terribly happy when I got him up from bed. He was still feeling warm, and he was more than normally grumpy. It was Fiona’s first day at Nursery, so his weekday morning routine was out of order already, and I put much of his bad humour down to that fact. But when we got to Goose, he lost the plot completely. He screamed and cried like he hasn’t done since his first months there. He was alternately hitting me and clinging to my legs with a desperate grip. He point-blank refused to let me take his jacket off, and in the end Susan (one of the Gooses) offered to take him away and settle him down. He was totally freaked. I was freaked.

Apparently, once he had settled down, he had a fine time for the rest of the day. He was still warm when he got home. When I took him up for an early bath and bedtime (he was very tired), I noticed a bunch of small pink splotchy spots on his upper chest, back, and neck. We considered the possibility of chickenpox (waterpokken for the Dutch audience) at that time, but it’s not the first time Alex has had a slight splotchy rash accompanied by a mild fever. So we reckoned that we’d wait until the next morning and see how he was then.

On Tuesday morning I pulled his pyjama shirt off to find even more spots. Chickenpox was emerging as the forerunner in the diagnosis race:

Symptoms begin with a low grade fever, loss of appetite and decreased activity. About two days later, your child will develop an itchy rash consisting of small red bumps that start on the scalp, face and trunk and then spread to the arms and legs (but may also occur in the mouth and genitalia). The bumps then become blisters with clear and then cloudy fluid, and then become open sores and finally crust over within about twenty four hours, but your child will continue to get new bumps for about four more days.

Alex with chickenpoxLow grade fever, check; loss of appetite, check; small red bumps that start on the scalp, face and trunk, check. But still, I wondered. He didn’t seem to be in any great discomfort. In fact, he seemed energetic and active. Was it really chickenpox? Monday had been a warm day, and Alex had been playing in the garden at nursery. Could the spots have been a heat rash, an allergic reaction, or insect bites? Alex wasn’t scratching himself much, so maybe the bumps weren’t itchy. What did that mean? Also, various web sites I checked suggested that around 300 spots was “normal” for a case of chickenpox. I counted about 35-40 all over Alex’s face, neck, and torso. Was that enough to really make it chickenpox?

I decided to call the nursery to ask them for advice. After all, they regularly see cases of chickenpox, so they should know. I outlined Alex’s symptoms to them, and I could pretty much hear Kirsty nodding at the other end of the line. Yup, she said, it was chickenpox. Apparently there were seven kids off sick with chickenpox about three weeks ago, and there were another three kids who had it this week. The evidence seemed pretty conclusive.

Alex, therefore, has been at home since Tuesday. I stayed home with him on Tuesday and Wednesday, and Abi was here on Thursday and Friday. The nursery was quite happy for Fiona to stay in care during that time. Chickenpox has an incubation period of 2-3 weeks, which means that Alex must have picked it up 2-3 weeks ago, well before Fiona was at nursery. However, this also means that Fiona has been exposed to the virus, and may well erupt in spots a fortnight from now. We’ll just have to wait and see.

The disease seems to have run its course now. From 35-40 spots on Tuesday morning, Alex was up to about 65 by the evening. Wednesday morning I counted around 80, and on Thursday morning Abi found 100. Most of these, however, remained as small pinkish splotches and are fading away again rather than developing into the characteristic tiny blisters, and today he was back down to about 70-80 again. Alex is being a really good boy and not scratching himself too much, and he is even being very brave about the two rather sore-looking blisters on his gums. Basically, it just doesn’t seem to have been a very severe case. 100 spots might sound like a lot, but when you spread them out over a body’s entire surface area, there’s still an awful lot of clear skin visible.

Poor Alex. But what a good little boy.

The accidental time traveller

From the department of abandoned ideas

For a long time I’ve had an entirely irrational fear of being sucked into a freak time warp and being deposited back in, say, the 12th century. It’s the kind of worry that, as a child, makes you carry around things like a swiss army knife, a magnifying glass, and a small quantity of string at all times.

Over time the fear has mellowed into a moderate worry. Now, when I think about falling into a temporal manhole, I worry that I don’t know enough sports scores off by heart to make a killing with (in case I get deposited in the mid-20th century), or that I have forgotten too many basic mechanical inventions to patent (in case I find myself in pre-industruial-revolution Britain), or that I don’t know how to locate a safe, natural source of caffeine. That’s a biggie.

Last year I had been thinking about setting up a web site specifically for the accidental time traveller: a kind of knowledge base full of things you could usefully memorize to make your stay in a far-flung age more bearable. Lists of sports scores, election results, how to manufacture simple chemicals, simple yet profitable inventions, self-defence techniques, techniques for figuring out exactly when and where you are (in the absence of nearby settlements), etc. In the end, though, it seemed more effort than it was worth. So the domain name accidentaltimetraveller.com is still available, if anyone wants to adopt the idea.

Related links

  • Knowing how to make explosives is probably a good start.

Where bookbinding meets politics

Combining fine craftsmanship with a wicked eye for a political commentary. That’s my girl!

“As part of my desire to encourage a little more civility in American politics, I have decided to give a gift to someone whose politics I disagree with. Specifically, I’m sending a handbound copy of the Constitution to President George W. Bush.”

Advances in golf technology, 1989-2004

I used to be a decent golfer. Back in 1989, in my last year of high school, I had a handicap of 14. Then I went to university and discovered trampolining and MUDs girls and booze, and it all went out the window. Ironically, my university was St. Andrews, which is also the home of golf. Even with the enormous discount that students and residents get, guess how often I played the hallowed Old Course in the four years I was there? Exactly once.

Since leaving university, I’ve generally played golf about three or four times a year. That handicap of 14 is now long forgotten, even though I do pull the occasional magic round out of my hat. As a matter of fact, I had one just last week. Since we bought Alex his first set of golf clubs for his 3rd birthday, he and I have been going along to the local driving range once or twice a week. All the practice paid off. When Scott and I played Longniddry on Monday, I managed to score a grand 90. Okay, so it’s a par 68 course, but the last time I broke 100 anywhere was back in 1997. I even had a short putt for 89 on the 18th, but I fluffed it. The last time I broke 90 was, I think, 1990. Yowza.

Anyway, what I wanted to write about in this entry was the difference between golf equipment now and back in 1989. First of all: golf bags have come a long way since then. The bag I had since 1989 had one shoulder strap, and when you put it down, it lay on the ground. Last week I bought a fantastically lightweight new bag with two shoulder straps (for carrying the bag backpack-stylee) and a built in fold-out stand. All this was supplied for the decidedly un-princely sum of £17.99. Carrying a bag of clubs over both shoulders is a great advance. No more aching shoulders at the end of a round.

Next: balls. I remember paying about 10 Dutch guilders (about £3) for a sleeve of three moderate-quality balls in 1989. Last week I bought fifteen decent balls for £7.99. That’s half the price they were fifteen years ago, without even having to take inflation into account. And I’m sure the balls feature spangly new composite core technology, with advanced dimple patterns for extra feel and distance. Or whatever.

Lastly: woods. In the 1980s metal woods were all the fashion. Persimmon was out, aluminium was in. Metal woods were lighter, cheaper to manufacture, and could be die-cast in clever ways to optimize the sweet spot. The 1990s, it seems, were all about big woods. With clubheads the size of dinner plates, these babies make my tiny 80s-style metal woods look puny. Whenever I pull them out of my bag, I can feel the amused and somewhat pitying stares of other golfers upon me. It almost feels like I’m walking around with hickory-shafted clubs. I’m a quaint golfing throwback to another century.

I’ve upgraded my bag and my balls. How long will it be before I upgrade my woods as well? At the range on Wednesday I was hitting my 3 wood quite well. My driver, however, has never been a pipeline to good scores, so I’d say there’s at least a chance of my moving into the 21st century at some point this year….

The day after tomorrow

Some thoughts after having been to see The Day After Tomorrow this evening:

  • I was reminded a lot of the book Mother Of Storms by John Barnes. Barnes had better science, I seem to recall. The global disaster played out over a longer timespan, and didn’t involve quite so much ice. Lots of wind and rain, though. Worth a read if you enjoyed TDAT.
  • As is always the case with large-scale disaster scenarios, I start to wonder just how much of the world’s population we could lose, and still retain a technologically advanced civilization. Whether it’s a comet impact or a plague that kills 9 out of every 10, how much of a knock could our society take, and still remain standing?
  • The trailer for I, Robot made my blood run cold. Asimov’s robot stories centre around a fundamentally logical, rational premise: the three laws of robotics. The stories are generally intricate, thoughtful, and calm. Seeing masses of robots running amok in the trailer, looking and acting like a bunch of mechanical Star Wars stormtroopers, made me break out in a sweat just thinking how bad this film might be.