The minute my hands touched her skin, I knew it was going to be
a long night. The thermometer confirmed my suspicions: 101
degrees, and my 8-month-old, Mira, was in pain and miserable. I
gave her acetaminophen, used a nasal aspirator to clear her
stuffy nose (which she fought), and rocked her back to sleep.
But the minute her head hit the sheets, she screamed. I picked
her up and repeated the routine throughout the night. By
morning, the fever was climbing, despite the fever reducer. I
called the doctor. Suspecting she would need antibiotics for an
infection, and because it was a Saturday, he told us to go to
the emergency room. Her fever was now close to 105 degrees.
After several tests and hours of waiting, we had a prescription
and a diagnosis: sinus infection. As a frequent victim myself, I
instantly understood why Mira cried every time we put her down,
and why she fought the aspirator -- the pressure in her head
must have been unbearable. That night I learned my first lesson
in childhood triage: the feve