Sick and Tired

Something’s wrong with John. Last week he started saying, “I’m tired,” through the day. At first I didn’t worry. He’d had a 24-hour diarrhea thing a few weeks before, and it wore him out. Plus the change in the air and the light, and starting at yet another new preschool.

After a few days, though, he’d say, “I’m tired,” and I’d suggest he lie down and watch a video or read a book with me. At bedtimes he said, “I’m not tired at night but I’m tired in the morning, Mom.” That’s easy, I thought. Classic signs that he needs more sleep.

This weekend, “I’m tired,” alternated with “I’m sick.” I asked what hurt and depending on when I asked he said his neck, his throat, his abdomen. Once he said, “Under my belly button.” I offered hugs and popsicles, suggested the toilet, prodded for more information.

Meanwhile, this whole time, he’s been fairly active. He played soccer and baseball with Dad; knights, Star Wars and Power Rangers with Ben. He eats well, sleeps well, poops. well The whole shebang.

Monday, “I’m sick,” outpaced “I’m tired.” He said his stomach hurt “this much,” holding his fingers a mere inch apart. “How much did it hurt when Ben pinched you?”

“This much!” he said, arms wide. Still, I took him to the doctor.

In early September, pediatricians see their share of tired, tummy achy preschoolers. Since John had the recent diarrhea, and since he started at a new school just that very same day, didn’t have a fever, and wasn’t vomiting or refusing food, no one got alarmed. Dr. Bob said diarrhea can temporarily damage the stomach lining, and dairy can aggravate that. He said wait a week, eliminate dairy and call Monday if John’s not better.

I put him to bed early, let him sleep late. Tuesday he awoke and announced: “I’m tired.” The fact that he is sick became part of his running conversation, as if he were a cancer patient or locked up in a hospital with tuberculosis. He kept asking for the “medicine to make me better,” referring to the Pepto Bismol that the doctor suggested, even though he said his stomach hurt only a little or not at all.

After school I took the boys to the grocery store, where John explored and behaved and seemed healthy enough. Then we went to the park, and he climbed and played. Then after 30 minutes he appeared at my side and said, “I wanna go home.” I said it would be another 10 minutes, and he lied down flat on his stomach and waited. Then he tossed sand on someone’s foot until they said, “No!” and I had to drag him from the park.

As I tucked him into bed that night he said, “Mom, I’m tired at night and in the day. That’s not right.”

This morning, walking home from leaving Ben at school, he said, “I’m sick.” Questions about symptoms seemed to baffle him. He collapsed on the couch to watch Cyberchase, instead of hopping around the family room as if he had ants in his pants, like he normally does. After two nights of extra sleep, small black crescents had appeared beneath his eyes. When he climbed into the car to go grocery shopping an hour later, he yawned as if he hadn’t slept in months and was settling in for a winter’s hibernation. Instead of falling asleep, he rattled on about some knight getting a little hurt and another getting a “really big hurt,” all the while sitting very still. I asked, “Are you a little sick, or a really big sick?”

“Really big,” he said. As I drove I searched his tired face for clues in my rear view mirror.

“I don’t like sticking little kids with needles, but we can do a screen,” his doctor told me on the phone this afternoon. We went right over for the blood draw. John screamed and cried, but calmed down before all the vials had been filled.

Afterwards I told him the blood would tell the doctor how to make him feel better, and he said, “Good.”

Now I’m just worrying, retracing all the facts and events in my head, hoping that he wakes up all bright-eyed, that the screen comes back normal. We should hear by Friday.