I will say gastro bug as many times as I can...

In the hope that it will actually be a gastro bug that Billy has right now.

He is sick again. Surging fever, rash, vomiting every 30 minutes or so, unpleasant poo (did I just mention poo again...?)

We've been to the doctor and he says 'gastro bug'. They always say gastro bug, and I'm writing this now because I am hoping that it really will be a gastro bug.

In the past we've been back to the doctors, we've been to the hospital, been sent home and gone back to the hospital again, before being admitted. He has never managed to beat a gastro bug without a drip. More often than not, it either wasn't a gastro bug (and was pneumonia, mycoplasma, strep, staph) or it was a gastro bug but it morphed into something truly horrible (transverse myelitis).

Right now, he's floppy and quiet and sweaty. He's covering his ears and eyes. And yes, those of you who have been around me (or my stark raving mad writing) for a while will know that I have indeed floated the possibility of meningitis, and all its nasty friends, to the doctor. He says it's not meningitis because Billy can move his neck. I'm choosing to be calmed by that. For now.

The saddest thing, is the determination with which Billy tries to play in between vomiting episodes. For a split second after being sick, he feels good, and grabs a train or a book, only to give up, drop his toy and curl up on the couch again. Scruffy is getting very good at dodging falling objects, and curling up just out of vomit's reach.

Actually, the good bit is that he's finally got the yucky bucket. Unless he's really caught by surprise, the vomit generally goes where it can be easily disposed of... I can't believe I've spent two days writing about poo and vomit.

Where are my standards?

They are in the toilet. Funny that.

So, here's hoping we are not in hospital tomorrow. Here's hoping his little body fights this bug by itself, and that tomorrow I will write about saving whales or human rights or something not flushable.