Miss N. is suffering (and I do mean suffering) from her first case of chapped lips. I know this because the instant anything touches her lips she shrieks, “Ow! My lips!”
I’m certain she would appreciate your fervent prayers.
Chapped
Illness
Swollen Glands & Purple Circles
If I’m asleep, I’m snoring. Not so my husband. He only snores when he’s sick.
Nora doesn’t snore either. So, last night, as she began snoring shortly after falling asleep, I thought, uh-oh.
During the night, she began crying. Her head hurt and she had a sore throat. As she put it, “It’s sore way back in my mouth.”
It’s rather amazing when your child can finally articulate an illness. Though I’ve never had trouble telling if Nora was sick, as she gets tell-tale purple circles under her bright blue eyes.
Anyway, this morning, despite being more chipper than I thought she’d be, she has swollen glands and purple circles.
This is actually her first sick day of the school year. She had a cold over Thanksgiving break, and one other cold that fell on a weekend. It’s nearly February and she hasn’t missed a single day of school. This is unprecented. All those early illnesses appear to have built her one heck of an immune system.
So, I get to spend the day thinking of calming activities for her. She’s already painted a picture, made some oatmeal and explained to me that, “Everything that is in my brain and in my heart I love and take care of.”
It’s going to be a beautiful day.
It’s All Fun & Games Until Someone Gets an Impacted Crop
Dogs lay around most of the day, chickens do not. They are constantly busy and usually stick rather close to one another. If one is listless and by herself, she is sick.
I keep chickens. I’m pretty new at it. We have six hens. On Sunday evening, Ben noticed that one of the youngest hens was acting funny. Andre (a Jersey Giant) was not herself. I glanced in her direction, thinking maybe the first of warm days of the year had her a bit tired out.
Last night, when we got home from work, I went to let all the girls out into the yard and found Andre hunkered down in the coop.
I scooped her up and checked her vent (the all purpose chicken exit). It looked fine. I looked for injuries. I didn’t find any, but she didn’t seem as supple as my other birds and her feathers looked a bit ratty.
She was uninterested in grain. I shooed her into the yard and she just found another place to hunker down. Her best friend, an Australorp named Henny Penny, circled nervously around her.
Andre is my husband’s chicken. Ben was not crazy about getting chickens, but after we got the first four, he came around and decided he wanted a Jersey Giant (the biggest chicken you can get). She was his birthday present. He named her Andre. I do not want anything to happen to this chicken.
Ben and I briefly discuss the possibility of taking her to the vet. The regular vet may be an option, an emergency after-hours vet is not.
After dinner I check on her again. She is hiding under Nora’s raised sandbox. Henny Penny is still with her. I squat down for another inspection. She closes her eyes. It seems she could stop breathing at any moment. Henny Penny walks up to me and looks me straight in the eye. Her brown eyes stare into mine for a good five seconds. It is one of those moments of inter-species connection you may have had with a dog. I just had it with a chicken. I am now obligated to do everything I can to save Henny Penny’s friend and protector.
I return to the house and search the internet. Nora, sensing tension, is at her toddler worst. She is jumping on the bed, climbing on us, yelling. Trying to step in the keyboard. I am irritated and get a bit snappy.
Ben, in a stroke of absolutely beautiful parenting, gently pulls Nora close and explains that Andre is sick and we are trying to find out how to help her. We are not mad at Nora, but we are worried about Andre, so we need her to use her gentlest touches and be as calm as she can while we figure out what to do.
I keep seeing mentions to check the chicken’s “crop.” I do not know what a “crop” is, which frustrates me, as I feel like I researched chickens rather thoroughly. I finally piece it together. The crop sack located at the front of the chest and is used in digestion. If the chicken eats a bunch of grass, or (god forbid) string, it can clump and impact the crop, preventing nutrients from being absorbed and actually starving the chicken. It can take awhile for the chicken to show signs of illness.
Back outside, I feel the around on Andre’s chest and find her crop feels like a wad of silly putty. I grab Henny Penny, her crop is undetectable. I run to the coop, where Ben has put the older hens, to keep them from bullying the sick chicken. All their chests are smooth.
Following instructions from the internet, Ben takes Nora downstairs to get a plastic tube, while I mix a solution of plain yogurt and olive oil. I scoop up Andre, flip her over, force open her beak, put the tube in her mouth and pour the mixture down her gullet. Righting her, I wait a few minutes. Then I begin to gently knead the ball of goo stuck in her crop. At intervals, I grab her feet and turn her upside down, hoping she will vomit some of the contents of her crop. Very little comes back out. I wait awhile, still holding her. I find I am rocking her like a baby. Nora and Ben sit on the patio. Nora is calm, asking questions. We explain there is some grass and junk stuck in Andre’s throat and we need to help her get it out. Nora comes over and I place her hand on the swollen crop so she can feel the mass.
Ben constructs a holding pen in the coop, to keep Andre safe and separated. He hangs the chick light, to keep her warm, as she’s been shaking a bit. We give her fresh water and a small amount of food. We tuck everyone in for the night.
This morning, Henny Penny was roosting on the electrical cord of the chick light, keeping vigil. Andre was laying quietly in her pen. The mass is a bit smaller, but still substantial. I gave her another treatment and will speak with the vet today. I am hopeful.
Food Poisoning: A Qualitative Scale
My sister, Rachel, had a recent bout with food poisoning. She created this hilarious qualitative scale for determining the level of severity. (Luckily, the case she just had was mild.)
Three Levels of Food Poisoning
Mild*
“Am I going to die?” Intermittent stomach pain, vomiting to empty stomach, and diarrhea until bowels are empty. Next day: wondering what you can safely eat, tired but functional.
Moderate*
“I know I am going to die.” More constant waves of stomach pain, some dry heaves with simultaneous painful diarrhea. Next day no appetite, still sick.
SEVERE
“Why can’t I just die?” Constant extremely forceful vomiting, dry heaves. Next day: failure to keep down food, possible dehydration, explosive watery diarrhea, headache, constant pain, aversion to eating anything for a week. Another defining factor of SEVERE food poisoning: the people around you begin wondering if you are going to die (from onset to 1am) and then why you can’t just die (from 1am to 8am).
*No case of food poisoning ever feels mild or moderate while it is occurring.
Move Over French Laundry
Nora was un-delighted with the prospect of the saltines on offer last night, so her sweet daddy tried to fancy it up by creating this elegant plate composed of sculptured toast, saltines and slices of Pedialite popsicle.
Nora wasn’t half as impressed as I was.
The sad part is, this is what I’ll be making him for dinner tonight. Coxsackie strikes again.
Sick Bed Update
If you’re not in the mood for sappy, skip this post…
I keep telling myself this is what sick kids are supposed to look like, sleepy, flushed. Usually, Nora barely notices when she’s sick. Colds don’t really bring her down, they just give her green snot and a cough. This virus is different. She’s down for the count. She’s sleeping all the time and doesn’t want to eat much or talk. Right now, she’s laying next to me in bed, just kinda staring off into space. She appears hydrated. Her fever is gone. But she barely resembles my chattering little eating machine. It’s depressing.
The plan for today was for Ben to stay home with her. I took the bus to work and halfway there got a call from Nora, she was crying for me. I knew I wasn’t going to make it through the day. I got to work, went to a few meetings and asked Ben to come and pick me up. I’ve always been the one to stay home with her and it feels wrong to change the game on her when she’s sicker than usual. And I missed her. We all just want to be together.
I cannot imagine the pain of parenting a seriously ill child. We are so blessed to have a healthy, bright little girl. I would do anything to keep her healthy and safe, forever.
Signing off, the little patient is asking for yogurt — a good sign.