New Parent, Fear is the Mind Killer

One week home from the hospital, and my infant's life was at risk. I stared down at my son, screaming in agony, writhing in pain. Something was wrong, I was certain. My child, who to this point had been healthy and happy at home for seven whole days, had devolved into a crying mass of quivering red flesh. I pressed my hand to his forehead. It was warm. It was blazing hot. He had a fever. It was an infection, there could be no doubt. We (my wife and I) opened our new digital thermometer. After fumbling with the plastic, unnerved by the cries, I placed the device under my son's tiny armpit. I looked to my wife, fear and anguish evident in my expression. The auxiliary thermometer beeped twice. My son continued to cry, louder it seemed, certainly in more pain. We leaned in unison over the small digital display on the device. 98.9. A fever, or close enough.

Panic ensued. My wife, a statistics driven analyst for a bank conglomerate, demanded a second sample. As my son screamed, I applied the thermometer again. 99.0. By god, the fever was getting worse. We frantically searched the internet for guidelines of infant temperatures. We yelled, searched, panicked, and searched some more. Then we remembered the packet our pediatrician gave us. Scanning it quickly, urged on by the incessant cries, we located the line that stated a rectal temperature was more accurate than an auxiliary one.

A few moments later and I was sprinting down the snowy side walk. I hastened into our neighborhood drugstore, frantic as the automatic doors opened far too slowly. I found the infant aisle, I was on a mission. Temporarily overwhelmed by hundreds of products packaged in pastel pink, blue, and purple. I not only needed the rectal thermometer, but also some kind of water-based lube. I rifled through the surprisingly large number of lube offerings. I paused briefly to shudder at using the intercourse amplifying His and Her's jelly for my son's rectum. After what felt like an eternity of closely examining the various products, I had found the proper lubricant and the rectal thermometer (complete with cute little carrying bag). After fleeing the drugstore with my haul, the cold winter air blasted me. Something happened on the brisk walk home. I thought of Frank Herbert's Dune.

An odd thing to cross one's mind at such a point of crisis. I didn't think of the shield knife fights, the ornithopters, the spice, or even the noble houses competing for stellar dominance. It was a quote that stuck with me since reading the space epic in college; “Fear is the mind killer.” Whether attributed to the freezing Wisconsin air, or the enlightened words of Frank Herbert, my anxiety fell away. My son was fine. I was fine. By the time I returned home, my wife had seemed to arrive at a similar conclusion. Our son was relaxing, still red of face, but without the wailing. Despite our calm new demeanor, we still used the anal thermometer (twice). I was reminded of Dune once again, as hot brown liquid poured out of my son's anus as the thermometer was extracted. For some reason, it reminded me of the sand worms of Arrakis, emerging from the desert.

It would be a few months before I was able to allay my fears, and move forward as a confident and happy parent. When I finally conquered the fog of worry, I did so by detaching myself from the internet. Scouring the infinite supply of breathless parenting articles left me confused and afraid. There were never any finite answers, or at least there would always be another blog post or sponsored article that would contradict what I had just read. It was a form of compounding interest, but in this case, it was fear.

When I cut the tethers of the world wide web that suspended me, I realized something parents have been realizing since the beginning. I already know how to do this. The truth is, your child is almost always fine. New parent, fear is the mind killer.