My son has been sick on and off for almost two months now. At first we thought it was the flu but two weeks later it came back, after a basketball session and there were no other symptoms, just high fever and tiredness. He’d wake up in the morning and tell me "I am so tired".  It passed and after we had returned from Ioannina, it returned too. The tiredness and the fever and I started googling his symptoms and found out he must have some kind of bacterial infection for it to be so persistent. Once more, the doctor said it was nothing serious, just another virus, afterall it is spring and he is such a strong kid etc etc. But we had blood tests and a few days back, we got a dreaded call from the lab, asking us to repeat the tests because the blood platelet count was too low. So low, they feared they had made a mistake. (Note: In controlled panic, I called back to the lab to ask about his white blood cells and if they had found them to be too high and the answer was: We can’t tell you before you have paid for these exams. This happened at 9:30 in the evening. I went berserk and I don’t even remember what names I called the receptionist).

I don’t think I’ve ever had a more stressful 12 hours in my life. I googled "low platelet count" and the things I read didn’t let me sleep at night. Several cancers, autoimmune syndroms that result in repeated infections, and so on. It was not a mistake his platelet levels were low, but they also found a widespread streptococcus infection that had depleted his iron levels so much it is a miracle he was still functioning. But even that sounded good to me, compared to what I had been worrying about. The tests have to be repeated later and he is on antibiotics and vitamins and a special iron rich diet.

There is a question and there is a thought I made. I am still shaken but I thought how lucky we are for being allowed to continue life as we knew it. Because for a couple of days, the internet, IKEA ads in bus stops, new films, spring cleaning, work, seemed irrelevant. A million what ifs.

My question though is this: Why do people have to rely on the internet to find out about their health? Why are not doctors more careful and yes, less relaxed? (the paediatrician must have answered the phone more than 15 times while he was examining my son). And why is this general phobia towards antibiotics becoming so dangerous that doctors are reluctant to prescribe them, even a month after they suspect (or don’t they?) that there is a bacterial infection and not the common cold virus? Why did I suspect my son had a bacterium and the doctor did not , or did not bother to tell me?

This is my conclusion: If you suspect there is something wrong, trust your instinct, search the internet, ask lots and lots of questions and don’t put your trust on just one doctor. And never fear you might sound foolish or like a know-all. That would be bad of course, but it’s better than being left in the dark and told "pay before we tell you if your child is okay".

Having to make a class presentation on "TV in my house", my son, whose English is not that good yet, wrote on one corner of the big craft paper he used: "Favourite TV Show: SPONGE BOOB".

This Monday morning, I woke my son up, gave him his breakfast, helped him dress and prepared his snacks for school. Then we went downstairs to wait for the school bus. A feeling of impending doom I had been trying to suppress overwhelmed me so five minutes before the bus arrived I told him to go upstairs and take his shoes off. Then I told the driver he was sick and could he bring the homework after school (they do this for everyone).

Am I nuts? Probably. I kept my son home because I had a bad dream and a bad premonition. On top of that, two of his photos had fallen off the shelf yesterday evening. I mean, who could argue with THAT?

Now he is cheerfully playing with his ships in his room and thinking of me both as his Monday saviour and his crazy gaoler.

The dreaded day I had to let my son know about the birds and bees came. I know he knows a few things, and he certainly knows the scientific part: the sperm fertilizes the egg. But how does the sperm reach the egg? That, he didn’t know, as far as I was concerned. So I got him this book and started reading a couple of pages every night, taking turns with his father.

Luckily for me, all the graphic details were on his dad’s turn. I could hear M trying to sound cool and composed as he told our son how he came about. But the little one didn’t bat an eyelid. The great mystery of life, the wonder of creation and so on so forth, didn’t impress him, not a bit. Vagina is not funny yet, not as much as poo and not even close to the hilarity of burping. When he was left alone, he asked again for the book and proceeded to read alone from another page, the one that explained how twins, triplets and quadruplets happen.

Our next milestone happens in a few pages when I have to read that some bad people might try to touch him inappropriately and he should refuse and let me know. I do not want to frighten him or make him suspicious of every person he meets, but I don’t want him to be ignorant of the danger either. Have you addressed this issue with your kids? And if you don’t have kids how would you go about it? Is there a subtle way to let him know there are perverts who sometimes work in schools, summer camps and playgrounds? And after I let him know, do you think he might need a stiff drink?

STOP THE PRESSES

I need to say Happy Birthday to my friend Joe and Happy Nameday to my friend Tasos! Two of the best men I’ve ever met (I’ve met a few).

Blondie got me “The melancholy death of oyster boy and other stories” the other day and I have been reading it non-stop. Don’t buy it for your kid though. It’s twisted, macabre, strangely funny and best of all, written by Tim Burton. This is one of my favourite stories in the book. You can see a movie of relevant aesthetic here

I got a new screen. Suddenly everything is bright and big and clear. Your blogs look different. My blog looks different. I thought it looked okay until I saw it for what it was: totally out of proportion. The old screen was not really a screen at all, more like a button hole. I went to the dvd rental place to get my weekly load of silly movies and cartoons. Only this time I also wanted to get a PS2 game for my son. One of the customers was a 15-16 year old boy who freaked out when I asked for the “Monster House” dvd. “Are YOU going to watch Monster House?” he asked me, disgusted. “Yes, but it is mainly for my son”. “How old is your son?” “Eight” “He is not allowed to watch that! It is very scary!” “I am trying to interest him in the genre so we can watch Hellraiser together.” The boy shook his head and turned to go when he saw “Cars” for PS2, in my hand. “Are YOU playing PS2?!” Clearly he has forgotten everything about my son, he looks at me as if I was a pervert, the girl at the till is fuming and I am enjoying this rare moment in my life where I get to shock the unshockable: a 16 year old boy.