On my way home from the ladies' evening Bible study at our church, I stopped off at McDonald's and got a small order of fries. Once I got home, Jason said he was going to take a shower. "Oh, and Grace [who was still awake] has been complaining about her
B-E-L-L-Y hurting, but I don't know if she is just wanting
M-E-D-I-C-I-N-E." [...because she is like her brother Josiah and will manufacture complaints just to get medicine, and excitedly jumps up at the mere mention of medicine.]
He walks down the hallway towards the shower. I ask Grace why her belly hurts and she says it's because "Daddy wouldn't give me any peanut butter." OK...when I had left for the Bible study, she hadn't eaten much of her supper. Maybe she was hungry (whether or not it was true that Jason "wouldn't" give her peanut butter)...so I fix her a small spoon of peanut butter. She turns around, takes one step, and then throws up on the spoon of peanut butter.
Jason hadn't been gone even two minutes. I don't think he could have timed that any better.
I had almost cleaned up the kitchen floor when Grace threw up in the next room. That's when I was wishing I had eaten a little more than a few fries. A long night was ahead of us...
By 3 a.m., Grace had thrown up several times. By 3 a.m., after sleeping for one hour and doing three loads of laundry, it occurred to me that she had hit the back of her head that afternoon when she fell on our driveway. So I call the pediatrician's office and after talking with the nurse on call, we are soon on our way to the ER.
Grace was given anti-nausea medicine (which, of course, she loved) and was soon quite perky, despite the fact that she had slept, oh, about 3 1/2 hours, counting the drive over to the ER. Medication that is supposed to make children drowsy typically has the opposite effect with my children.
After waiting, waiting, and more waiting, Grace was taken to have a CAT scan. She had to be strapped down in the papoose to keep her still, and all I could hold of her hands were the tips of her fingers. At one point, she was crying and moaning, "Save me, Mommy!" She may be scarred for life. I managed to hold it together to attempt to comfort her, even with the pleas of "Save me, Mommy!" She didn't stop crying until she had a firm grip around my neck.
After waiting, waiting, and more waiting, we were finally told that the CAT scan was normal, it was probably a virus, and we could leave...eventually...after waiting to get the written orders. It was worth the wait, though, because the doctor gave Grace some of the magical anti-nausea pills in case the vomiting persisted.
It did. And the magical pills are, well, doing their magical thing and letting her sleep now (after the initial perkyness wore off).
One of the highlights of our trip to the ER was when an inmate was brought in at 6 a.m., splattered with blood, with injuries from a fight that broke out at the county jail. His injuries? He had been bitten. Bitten. Through the skin. Needing sutures. And poked in his eye, possibly to the point of doing damage to his vision. He was right next to us on the other side of the curtain in the exam room so I listened closely and kept an eye on his armed guard sitting in the chair at the edge of the curtain. Because, y'all, I've watched way too many episodes of "ER" and you know what always happens whenever a prisoner is brought in. And I wanted to do my part and make sure the guard wasn't overpowered by the handcuffed and shackled prisioner.
Did I mention how little sleep I got last night? :)