Max was not well. His bald head was turning red, his little body was almost too hot to touch and he was emitting a plaintive wail.

The digital thermometer indicated he had a temperature of 102F.

"What do you think it is?" my husband asked anxiously as he paced up and down with our poorly six-week-old son.

Of course, we were both thinking the worst but couldn't bring ourselves to say "meningitis".

"I can't see a rash," I said, trying to remember the danger signs. "And he doesn't seem bothered by the bright light. But I still think we ought to call the doctor."

It's always worrying when your kids fall sick. Although Max is our second child and we are generally more relaxed with him than we were with our first, events like this can make you feel like new parents all over again.

He seemed far too small to be experiencing the misery of illness and both my husband and I were still suffering the extreme fatigue that even healthy new babies inflict on their carers to have completely rational thoughts.

Max's fever had suddenly spiked at around 8pm that evening when our own doctor's surgery was closed. We were faced with either contacting the out-of-hours emergency surgery number for advice, or trying to get Max to the children's hospital.

Although we were worried, he didn't seem unwell enough to warrant a trip to the Royal Alex. Besides, our four-year-old had just gone to bed and it would have been problematic finding a babysitter at such short notice.

So we called the emergency doctor's number. A receptionist asked us to describe Max's state and assured us the doctor would ring us back soon.

As the minutes ticked by, I began to wonder if we had made the right choice. Max was still fretful and glowing like a hot charcoal. Half an hour later, with not a word from the doctor, we called again. Again, we were assured the doctor would get back to us soon.

After another agonising half an hour, during which time we had already used our mobiles to ring up various friends for advice (most of which consisted of "get him to the hospital") the doctor rang back.

He talked us through the symptoms, which really only consisted of a very high temperature. Max was still feeding from me and although he was being sick afterwards, this was not unusual for him.

"Give him a tepid bath," suggested the doctor. "And call me back in an hour and a half if you're still concerned."

The bath cooled him down temporarily but by this time both my husband and I were delirious, drenched in sweat and nauseous.

With little change in Max's condition, we rang again and this time were told the doctor would call on us within the hour.

Just before 11, the medic arrived and gave us the reassurance we needed. No signs of meningitis or that other nasty - measles. He said Max had a cold-like virus and advised us to give him a very small dose of Calpol.

Thank god for liquid paracetamol for kids. Within 20 minutes Max was cool and calm and trying to get a smile out of his pale and shaky parents - which is something he'll have to get used to doing, no doubt.