That's Life ( Pt 16 )

Dear diary...after a very rough night of not much sleep, I awoke with my son still in my arms. His face red, I thought immediately; Oh! No! There's something wrong with his mouth, but he seemed to be fidgety and clawing at the air. I too had felt itchy throughout the night, so out of curiosity and pulling back the covers I decided to check my son over, he was covered in red marks, then I saw it...a flea jumped on his leg. That was the last straw, now I knew they were bites, no wonder he was so upset.

 

With that, I jumped out of bed brushing myself down and feeling even more itchy than before. I immediately got dressed and took my son downstairs trying to pacify him. Walking straight to the back room to phone the doctor, as I dialed the number the landlady came out of the kitchen to find out what was wrong.

 

When I told her all she said was, “I can't think where the fleas came from!” I never said a word, but managed to make an appointment for that morning...to my great relief. To say I was fuming was an understatement.

 

“Well!” She then said, “It can't be anything to do with our animals, cause we've not been bitten and the dog sleeps on the settee as you know.”

 

By now I wasn't interested in who's fault it was, I just wanted to get away from her voice. Without saying another word, I marched back up to my room and got my son dressed immediately, muttering under my breath at how upsetting this all was.

 

Arriving at the surgery, the doctor was concerned because my son was under great stress, not only from the operation, but now the bites too. He gave me a prescription for some cream for us both. I described the place I was living in and my situation. With that he arranged to pay me a visit, just to see what I was talking about, telling me I would need to get some spray and fumigate everything.

 

This was all I needed, but I was glad the doctor was paying me a visit the next day, at least he'd understand my circumstances better.

 

When I got back from the doctor's, I immediately used some of the spray powder I had over from using on the chair. I scattered it all over my bed, my son's cot and playpen, the carpet and curtains, really hoping it would do the job, but I needed to get out of the room after I'd sprayed. I decided to go and see mum and dad, as I knew they were on holiday. Phoning them up, they agreed it would be fine for me to come over, which I was so relieved about.

 

Getting the prescription cream on the way, I had to catch a bus into the city, then another to my parents. It was early afternoon by the time I reached there house, I hoped that I wouldn't be bringing any of those fleas with me, I couldn't imagine how my mum would feel if she found one. Dad had a car vacuum which I knew he wouldn't mind lending me, hopefully that would clear the room.

 

I enjoyed a home cooked meal, but because mum didn't much like cooking, it was dad that made us lunch. As we talked about how I was, I kept most things to myself not wishing to worry mum, knowing how upset she can get when it comes to me and my problems. The fact that my son had been bitten and his face was red, he was still very distressed, spending most of the day crying.

 

“Perhaps he's teething!” Said my mum concerned.

 

“No!” He's not teething mum! He's got a rash, but the doctor knows about it.” I produced the cream and began rubbing it on the bites, I hoped she'd accept what I said and not go on about it, she didn't and that was a relief.

 

Dad gave me a lift back later on that day. As we arrived at the house, I told him about the flees, because he wanted to know why I suddenly needed the vacuum cleaner and also he helped me with carrying it up the stairs. Dad knowing what mum was like, promised he wouldn't mention it to her, so at least that was one problem off my shoulders. We made our way up to my room, avoiding talking to anyone in the house. After my dad left, I got to work hoovering through my bed, the cot, carpet and curtains. It was a long tedious job, but needed to be done.

 

I wasn't looking forward to sleeping that night, worried about the fleas and still feeling itchy. I didn't want to bathe my son, as I wanted the cream to work, so after placing him in his play pen, I put some clean sheets on his cot and my bed, also clean pillow cases, then I put my son back in the cot and hoped for the best. By this time I was knackered and slumped down, closing my eyes ready for bed too.

 

The next morning I was grateful that both baby and me had slept through the night, though my son was a bit fractious when he awoke.

I got up and commenced my morning ritual of bathing and feeding him. For myself it was my usual coffee and biscuits and a quick wash.

 

Putting the television on, I waited for the doctor to arrive. Baby was happy in his bouncy chair appearing to be watching the tv, but more fascinated by the moving pictures, as I listened for a knock at the door, hoping I'd get there before the landlady.

 

It seemed like ages, because the doctor hadn't been able to give me any particular time, he said it would be after morning surgery, which could have been anywhere between late morning or early afternoon.

 

I tried to busy myself as my bedside clock ticked away slowly...or so it seemed, I just hated hanging around this house, it felt like an eternity.

 

Then finally I heard a knock at the front door. I charged down, but of course the landlady got there before me. She was stood at the open door, as I appeared at the bottom of the stairs. “It's the doctor for me!” I remarked, brushing past her.

 

The landlady seemed put out and walked back to the kitchen mumbling something or other to herself, but to be honest I didn't really care.

 

“Please...come in!” I voiced, ushering him in and closing the door. “I'm afraid my room's right at the top of the house,” I uttered, trying to think of something to say to break the silence.

 

The doctor smiled and coughed as I led him up, he was a man of few words as we entered my room. I offered him a chair at the table by the window.

 

“So! How's your son?” He asked, looking genuinely interested. “Did the cream work?”

 

My son smiled, which usually meant he was about to do something in his nappy, or he was pleased to see the doctor...I put it down to the nappy, though it seemed to put another smile on the doctors face.

 

“The cream must have worked,” I declared. “We both had a good nights sleep without too much itching.” Turning to put the kettle on, I inquired, “can I offer you a coffee?”

 

“No! I can't stay,” he said, “but I'm glad you're both feeling a lot more comfortable.” He paused, then continued. “I understand your concerns about your environment. I will see what I can do, though I'll need to make some phone calls, but will be in touch within the next two days and try to sort something out for you.

 

I was so pleased that now someone was going to help me at last, it felt like a load off my mind and I couldn't wait to hear back from the doctor.

 

To be continued...