Harder than cat-herding

A few years ago, there was a hilarious commercial that featured cat-herding cowboys. (Well, I thought it was hilarious; maybe you have to be a cat person to appreciate the humor.) In the past 19 hours, I've decided that driving a herd of felines across the desert is surely easier than convincing a 3-year-old to choke down disgusting medicine.

Maggie has been prescribed Biaxin for her pneumonia/ear infection. The pediatrician struggled to find a medicine that would effectively fight both conditions, and she seemed almost hesitant to prescribe Biaxin because, as she put it, "Most kids think it tastes B-A-D."

Welcome to the understatement of the century.

I appreciate her spelling out the word bad, on the off chance that Maggie might actually like the taste and wouldn't be influenced by the doctor's description to the contrary. But it really didn't matter. The instant the white stuff touched her top lip, she refused to accept any medicine into her mouth. I switched gears and put the medicine in one of those needleless syringe-type things, hoping I could force it into her mouth. She covered her mouth with her hands. She jerked her head away from me. She ran from me. She cried (and with a closed mouth no less ... had she been open-mouth crying, I might have been able to squirt the medicine inside). When I finally managed to force it in, she promptly spit every drop back out. It was then that I discovered that not only does Biaxin taste badly, it also has a weird texture; it's very gritty, sort of like big granules of chalk that didn't fully dissolve.

After dinner, we tried again. Bobby even warned her that if she didn't take her medicine, she might have to go back to the doctor's and get a shot. "OK," she immediately replied, holding out her arm as if to say, "I'm ready right now. Anything is better than that poison." Next, I tried mixing it with chocolate milk. She drank three sips, only to declare that she didn't like the "feeling of the chocolate milk powder." So much for fooling her. I started to pour the milk down the drain, then I wondered, just how bad is this stuff? So I took a sip.

Oh. My. Gosh.

I fought the urge to wretch, forced myself to swallow it, then I did what any self-respecting person does -- I shared the misery. "Hey Bob," I called casually. "Try this stuff and see if it's as bad as she's making it out to be." He looked at me suspiciously. "I just tried it," I said, faking cheerfulness. "I just want to know if you agree with me before I try to force her to take more." He took a drink, and I'm not exaggerating when I say that he could barely get it down; he really nearly gagged on it. It is, without a doubt, the grossest thing I think I've ever put into my mouth. It's not the texture, for me anyway, it's the taste. I can't even describe it; suffice it to say that there's nothing in the world I could mix it with to mask that horrific flavor. It gave me new appreciation for how many times Maggie had tried it.

I decided to try a simple new tactic: Honesty. I sat her down and told her that I'd tried it too, and I agreed with her that it was very, very yucky. However, I said, that didn't change the fact that she needed the medicine to get better. So I asked her if she thought she could swallow it quickly, and we'd have some ice cream in a bowl, ready for her to chow down immediately after taking the medicine. Would you believe THIS WORKED? She swallowed it just fine -- nothing mixed in with it! I literally had the medicine dispenser in one hand, and a spoonful of mint chocolate chip in the other, but hey ... whatever works, right?

This morning was more of a battle, but eventually she took it willingly, albeit with the requisite mint chocolate chip. She may gain 50 pounds and I may need to buy stock in Breyers, but hopefully at this pace she'll lick the pneumonia quickly!