I pay my co-pay and growl at my children like a pit bull on a bone if they look like they might touch something. After what feels like hours, we are called from the germ cesspool into the small claustrophobic room where they close the door. Now we wait with the cat posters, mid-evil like equipment that looks painful and a cacophony of sounds coming from outside the door that make you want to run for your life.
Finally, bronchitis is diagnosed, antibiotics procured, and we head home ready to attempt the impossible: dispensing antibiotics per the directions.
I glance at the 32 pages of accompanying literature and find little relating to the illness I am treating or the medicine I’m dispensing. There are several honey comb diagrams, discussions of various medical studies and lastly the warnings. With a high powered magnified glass I am able to read: do not take this when pregnant (neither my child nor I are pregnant, he is an eight year old boy and I know better). Side effects include nausea, diarrhea, and rashes. I am nauseous, have diarrhea and a rash from caring for Sick Boy and his brother, too many dirty dishes, too much dirty laundry, not enough sleep and not enough help. I toss the literature into the recycle bin and move on the bottle.
The bottle says one teaspoon three times a day for 10 days. Hmmm. I decide to start with the old trick my mother taught me and immediately double up the first dose. Let me say here, that following my mother’s medical advice can be dangerous. When we were growing up she refused to acknowledge any type of sickness and made us ring the doorbell if we were bleeding. “No sense in tracking blood in.” My siblings and I called her “Nurse Ratchet.”
One more teaspoon for Sick Boy before bed and day one is dispensed as directed…well, sort of; except for doubling that initial dose, which I do think it said somewhere in all that literature specifically NOT to do.
Day two and three I administer the medicine with precision. I mark each teaspoon dispensed on the bottle with a small line so as to keep proper track. I give the bottle front- row, top shelf space in the refrigerator so it is always visible. I tape a note on the kitchen windowsill that says “MEDS.”
Sick Boy seems to be on the mend. But then something always happens on the fourth day. An entire gallon of milk spills geyser style inside the refrigerator, I realize we are supposed to be two places at once, or the internet goes down and requires a full day of downloading and rebooting maneuvers; and I forget the medicine entirely. Well, I remember after Sick Boy is already sleeping and follow more of Nurse Ratchet’s advice: Do NOT wake a sleeping child. I vow to be vigilant tomorrow.
The next morning, day five, I’m back on duty with a little extra punch. Sick Boy gets two teaspoons in the morning and two at night. Four is better than three and how much it could it really matter when they are dispensed as long as they are spread out a little bit? No need to tick these doses off on the bottle as the counting systems is useless now. .
Day six and seven we manage one or two of the three teaspoons required but by day eight the bottle has lost its front row status in the refrigerator and is lurking somewhere near the back by the light. This goes unnoticed for about a week until Sick Boy starts coughing again.
We are now fourteen days into the ten-day prescription and I am starting over again. Roughly half the bottle remains. Round two goes very much along the same lines as round one. Sick Boy eventually recovers or is upstaged by more pressing event (I am Nurse Ratchet’s Daughter after all).
The entire process usually takes about a month and ends with me tossing the dregs into the sink and neatly recycling the container. I do realize I’m doing my part toward creating another antibiotic-resistant bacterium, but what more can I do? Perhaps my next bottle of antibiotics will come with a special dispenser – one who also cooks and does laundry!
