I Didn’t Have a Fever.

A few weeks ago, Shane wasn’t feeling well. He didn’t have a fever, so I sent him to school.

“If you start feeling worse,” I told him, “go to the nurse and have her call me. I’ll come and get you.”

No one called.

That afternoon, when I went to pick him up, he ran over to me. “This was the worst day!” he said. “I had blurry vision like all day. And I had to keep putting my head on my desk. I was so tired all day! And my throat hurts and my head hurts and I didn’t even eat all of my lunch.”

He talked so fast and so much – especially for usually quiet Shane – that I assumed he wasn’t that sick.

“Why didn’t you go to the nurse?”

“I did,” he said.

“Well, what did she say?”

“She took my temperature and said I didn’t have a fever. So she told me to lay down for awhile. And then I went back to class.”

“Why didn’t you have her call me?”

“She said I didn’t have a fever, so I told her not to call you.”

“Next time,” I said, “if you are sick enough to go to the nurse, please have her call me. I can always come and get you. That’s my job.”

“Okay,” he said.

That evening – maybe three hours after school ended – Shane got a fever. He was out of school for two days.

So this morning, when he came into my room shortly after 6 a.m., I rolled over and said, “You’re sick.”

“I don’t feel very good,” he said. “I have a sore throat and I have a slight headache. But mostly I just wanted to tell you that I’ve been awake for 50 minutes.”

Shane is very exact about numbers.

“Well, you need to get back to sleep,” I said. “And we’ll see how you’re doing when I get home from taking Dylan to school.”

So Shane went back to sleep, and I took Dylan to school.

When I came home, Shane trotted down the stairs, dressed for school, and sat at the kitchen table.

I was excited. I was dressed to go to the gym. I had a student to teach. My husband and I had tickets for a hockey game, and were supposed to have our first date in five months. If Shane went to school, I could do it all.

“So you’re going to school?” I asked, smiling.

“I don’t know if I should,” he told me, not smiling.

“But you’re all dressed,” I said. I felt his forehead. “And you don’t have a fever.”

“I got dressed just in case,” Shane said. “But remember that day when it was like the worst day of my life? I had blurry vision and I kept putting my head on the desk…” He clonked his head on the table for emphasis.

I remembered. “Do you feel that bad?” I asked.

“I have different symptoms – is that the right word?”

“Yes.”

“But I feel about the same as I did that day, maybe just one slight tad better.”

“Okay,” I said. “You’re staying home. I don’t want you to have another day like that.”

Shane found a spot on the couch, and I covered him with a blanket. I cancelled my teaching session. I cancelled my date. I showered instead of going to the gym.

Four hours went by.

Now Shane has a fever. Sure enough, he is sick.

Sometimes, the child just knows more than the parent.

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