We were sitting at the table eating supper.
And by "We" I mean the two children and I - because Paul was...you guessed it...out of the country.
Kayla was 18 months old and Blake was about 4 1/2. I think we were eating something really cool like Dino-Nuggets and macaroni and cheese.
I had not yet started drinking heavily at that point so there was no tequila involved.
Oh, I'm kidding!
I've never had tequila. I just like to say the word a lot.
Anyway, Kayla was sitting in her little booster chair eating her dinner and drinking some milk. Blake was doing the same. Everything was going along quite swimmingly, when Kayla vomited.
And it seriously struck terror in my heart, because: a) when Kayla vomited, it was NEVER a short lived thing and b) when Blake was 18 months old, he was in the hospital for two nights taking IV fluids due to being dehydrated from a severe stomach virus. I had visions of a hospitalized toddler and an unoccupied preschooler. I was SCARED.
So I took Kayla's food away and tried to calm myself. After she threw up three more times in the space of a couple hours, I called my doctor's after-hours number. I got one of his partners who told me "it is not always dangerous for a child to vomit," in a tone that told me she thought I was an over worried mother. I told her I was aware that vomiting was not always dangerous but, in MY experience with MY child, she rarely vomits just a couple of times and I was worried this was going to go on to the point of her becoming dehydrated. "Well, in that case, you should go to the emergency room or the walk in clinic."
Gee, ya' think?
I'm not sure I would have thought of that myself, me being the college educated mother of two that I was. And isn't it always nice to have that after hours number so somebody can tell you to go bother another doctor. I know doctors have a hard job, and there's nothing they can do over the phone; but I'm sure my family doctor, knowing my children's history so well, would have offered something else, perhaps a prescription or a way to avoid the expense and frustration of an emergency room visit.
Whatever.
Our bachelor friend Scott had dropped in for something that evening and he offered to watch Blake while I took Kayla to the ER. I told him that I'd wait it out and see if she improved; and sent him on his way home.
At 11:30 that night, Kayla was still vomiting a couple of times an hour. So I called Scott and woke him up and he drove the twenty minutes to our house, where he camped out on the couch, so he could stay with Blake while I went to the emergency room.
{Funny, Scott never responds to our e-mails or phone messages anymore. Go figure.}
I arrived at the ER right at midnight and was optimistic because there were no other patients there. They gave Kayla a suppository and I returned home.
Five and a half hours later.
I thanked Scott profusely and told him good-bye
I put Kayla in her crib at 6:00 a.m. and lay on her floor.
She woke up 3o minutes later.
And I turned into an exhausted, blubbering, incompetent idiot.
Blake got up 30 minutes after my nervous breakdown began.
In all the years my husband had traveled, I had never asked for help from our parents, even though they lived only 40 miles away. I didn't like breaking the routine by taking them to the grandparents' houses overnight when Paul traveled; and the kids got so excited and wound up when the grandparents came to our house, that any visit beyond a few hours also made me feel frazzled.
But this time, I was exhausted to the point of being loopy; I was frustrated and worried and, for the first time in all those years of being married to a fly-away husband, I honestly thought I wouldn't make it though the day.
I pulled myself together and tried to rationally consider my options. Finally I decided on a very wise and reasonable course of action.
I turned into a wounded 7-year-old and called my mommy.
"M-M-Moooommmm? I've h-h-had the w-w-w-w-worst night of my LIIIIIIFE!" I sobbed into the phone.
She was just getting ready to leave for work and she said "Oh No! What happened?" So I explained my hellacious night, told her I hadn't slept in 24 hours, I was seriously worried I wasn't going to get through the day, let alone the rest of the week and that I "d-d-d-don't kn-kn-know what I'm g-g-g-going to DOOOOO!"
*hiccup*
So she took the day off and drove up to help me take care of the kids, allowed me to take a nap and helped in the search for my mind. Because, funny thing, I had lost it again somewhere between the Emergency Room and our home.
I had been told by the ER doctors to follow up with our family doctor that day. Of course our regular doctor was off that day so I waited for an hour and a half (they were squeezing me in) in the waiting room of the doctor's office while Kayla flitted around playing and jabbering as happy as could be, despite the fact that her mother was nearly falling off the chair in exhaustion. I think it's safe to assume I even drooled onto the upholstery. Finally, when it seemed as though I was going to be there all day, I told the receptionist that I wouldn't wait any longer and I packed my happy, healthy NOT vomiting child into the van and drove home.
Where my four year old had actually hand cuffed his grandmother to the rocking chair.
But it's okay, she said it only meant he was gifted.
Grandmas. What would we do without them?
No comments:
Post a Comment