Keir Royale

One day he’s a tree-monkey…

The next, he’s joined his sister on her sick bed, determined to record a higher fever than hers.

I’m not used to broken nights these days, so after being woken three times in one night - twice by Hannah when doses of Nurofen expired their six-hour working life, and once by Ben clamiing to have a headache - I wasn’t fit for much this morning.

It amazes me to think I functioned like this, only worse, for two years on and off, holding down a job, managing the odd conversation with Mike and keeping the children alive, all on half a brain.

Now, I take a full night’s sleep for granted, barring illness.

Hannah’s temperature went up to 40 celsius (104 degrees F) at one point, while Ben’s only just tipped 38.9 (102 degrees F).

While at the doctor’s with her (she was complaining of a sore neck and wouldn’t put her chin on her chest) I had to bribe her to remove her teeth from the little stick the doctor was using to keep her tongue down while he checked her throat.

Then he wanted to look at her back and chest for rashes.

“I haven’t got a rash,” she yelled, “I’m not itching.”

The bribery stakes were raised, he found no rash and diagnosed tonsilitis.

So now she’s perusing I Love Ponies to choose a reward for her bad behaviour.

Meanwhile Ben, who insists he’s iller than his temperature suggests, is angling for a present “just for being poorly”.

I’m not good with any illness that lasts more than a day.

Nurse Cathy starts to mutate into a twisted harpy whose life-force is being sapped by repeated requests for drinks/frubes/DVDs and Attention.

So the next decision is how soon I can pack them back off to school.

Tomorrow?
The day after?

I shall have to make it clear there’s no telly for sick kids on a Tuesday and see if either of them cracks and opts for school instead of a dull day at home without CBBC to entertain them.

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