Oh no. A sign on the door.
I dreaded these notices more than staying at Scottish grandma's in the winter, where once it was so cold I could actually see my breath escape from my mouth. Scottish grandma has a miniature wooden Swiss chalet on her fireplace mantle, a memento we had brought back from a skiing holiday, and it kindly reminded me of the temperature. Forty-two friggin' degrees. Fahrenheit. Inside the house.
We have had several cases of headlice recently – please check your child’s hair diligently.
Wonderful, I thought to myself. What else are we going to catch in this nursery? At first I had thought the nursery was a great idea. It was a new facility right in the business park where I worked, so I could sneak off at lunchtime and feed Emily.
What I hadn't realised was that it meant getting Emily up before her natural waking time, juggling giving her a bottle in between taking a shower and getting dressed, and then commuting with her on the M4 for 45 minutes -- assuming no traffic -- to then drop her off in a nursery that looked after about 100 other children and all their related diseases.
Within days of her start at the nursery she came home with a runny nose, then a few days later, the tummy bug. I couldn't help thinking that a nursery has a great business model -- charge parents a premium for looking after their child and exposing them to lots of illnesses, then make them stay home with sick screaming child when they catch said illnesses.
The ominous notes started to appear – we have a case of measles, chickenpox is about, mumps...
So when I saw the sign the first thing that popped into my head was do they have to stay home if they had headlice? Quickly calculating in my head how much this was going to cost me, and which meetings I was going to have to cancel. Again.
Never having headlice myself -- I was sure we wouldn't get it, we bathe every evening -- I asked the nursery teacher for advice.
"Oh, I've already checked Emily and didn’t find anything,” said the young girl from the midlands, running her hand through Emily's thick dark hair.
Phew, I thought. I was seven months pregnant with Alexandra, and I had other more pressing things to think about. Thankfully I could put this one to rest.
Two months went by.
My head started itching. Really itching. I woke up one evening scratching my head in a craze, cursing being pregnant and its side effects. My husband thought I was being hormonal. At least it will be over soon, I reassured myself.
Alexandra was born.
Alexandra came home.
Several family members came to help.
I was still scratching my head. Maybe it takes a long time for this itchy thing to go away after birth.
A bit bent out of shape after Alexandra's birth, I asked Emily if she wanted to hold her sister.
“What a good big sister you are,” I said carefully placing Alexandra in her lap, and giving Emily a pat on the head. For the first time in a long time, I had a good look at her.
What’s that THING crawling in her HAIR?
I saw what looked liked a termite with wings peeking out of her chestnut brown hair like a brave Great War soldier coming out of the trenches.
Eeeeewwwwwwwww!
There’s another one. I could just about see the riffle on his little back.
I remembered the note on the door.
I threw both children into the car and drove as fast as I could to the pharmacist.
‘We have headlice,” I blurted. “I mean, my daughter has headlice,”
Both of them? The pharmacist asked. I looked at one-week-old Emily, content in her car seat. Oh god, I hope not. She hardly has any hair. She couldn’t possibly.
“Er, I’m not sure, I think just Aleandra, she’s my 19-month-old."
“You need to check everyone in the household, you know.”
Everyone? I thought to myself. A wave of panic went through my body. My head’s been itching. I saw Scottish grandma itching this morning. And daddy. My heart was racing.
“What the best stuff you have?”
The pharmacist went through a scientific explanation of the different methods of lice removal, which I took to mean do you want to nuke them or just drown them.
"Nuke them."
He looked puzzled, but handed me a bottle.
"I’ll take 20 please."
Although this happened a while back, the experience has stayed with me and now I'm so paranoid I check the girls' hair with a nit comb and conditioner every week or so.
And the other day I was having coffee with a friend who has a three-year-old daughter at nursery. Every few minutes, my friend's hand went up to give a little scratch at the back of her head. At first I thought it was a nervous habit, but then I started to wonder…
Photo credit: Baranka
My name is Christine Brown and I’m the nurse consultant involved in a national head lice campaign called 'Once a Week, Take a Peek'.
The campaign is designed to encourage families to check regularly and there is a website which has all the information needed to identify and deal with head lice effectively, as well as fun and practical tips to inform families and involve children.
Further information can be found at www.onceaweektakeapeek.com. I hope you find this useful.
Christine Brown, Nurse Consultant
Posted by: Christine Brown | 19 December 2008 at 10:23 AM