Every weekday at 4 pm the health department nurse knocks softly at my door. I let her in and she watches me administer four anti-TB medications to Salomae. Then she leaves. As simple as that. She's a nice lady and Sally expects her arrival daily.
Secretly, I hold a grudge against the program that doesn't trust us to consistently medicate our sick child. I understand the need for the government to check up on all the TB carriers in the area. If people don't take their meds, we could have a pretty serious problem on our hands. We comply by opening our home, begrudgingly. Do I sound a wee bit perturbed? Do you want someone to come to your house everyday? Just as naps are ending and sweet solitude is closing for the day.
I check the clock and wake Sally up. We talk in hushed tones to keep Ella asleep for as long as she needs. "Did you pee pee in your pull-up?" She giggles and always replies no even when I can see the rust colored urine staining the diaper. She scampers into clean panties and a clean undershirt. Then I strap on her brace. And I hear a knock on the door. Since 'pictures are worth a thousand words...'
Here's Sally's debut in 'nasty faces you can make while taking nasty medicines'. Well worth an Oscar.
On the technical, medical side: The sample of fluid from Salomae's back came back positive for TB. No big news there, but the fact that they got a culture to grow is good. That was sent off to the state which tested it for drug sensitivity. We got those results last week and Sally's TB is drug sensitive (NOT resistant to the drugs she's taking). Which means we can drop off one of the meds--now she's down to three. In another month we should be able to drop another one.