How was your Thanksgiving? Did you eat some turkey? Do some shopping? Go to the ER?
No?
Well, I did. Sorry you missed out.
Thanksgiving started out great. The kids were playing nicely and there was lots of good food. After we gorged ourselves on near deadly amounts of fried turkey, my mother-in-law, both my sister-in-laws and I decided to do some shopping. We left our kids in the capable hands of the guys and let outta that place like our asses were on fire. ( Don't judge me. I love The Kid, but you would've done it too).
After a few hours of shopping we decide to come home. When I come in the door I yell for The Kid. She pops around the corner and smiles. Good. I don't hear any crying and the house hasn't burnt down; she's been pretty good. To confirm this, I ask my father-in-law how she's been. "Good" he says " but she bumped her head. She cried for a minute, but then she was fine". I look The Kid over. 'Nothing really bad HOLYCRAP! What the hell is that?!' I think to myself. Right above her left eyebrow is the evidence of her little tumble. Actually it looks more like she was whacked in the head with a cricket bat. That bruise was nasty, but it didn't seem to bother her any so I calm down... a little.
We sit down and eat some leftovers for dinner, but The Kid was not having any of that. All in all, she ended up eating a cup of diced peaches and drank half of Nanny's cranberry sierra mist. How nutritious. A couple hours later we decide it's about time to make the 45 minute trip home. We load The Kid and enough leftovers to feed a tribe into the car and head for home. In the rain.
About 15 minutes from our exit, The Kid wakes up. She starts coughing and then vomiting... like Linda Blair. That's right, Exorcist vomit everywhere. I freak out, wake Bubba up and pull the car over to the side of the road. As soon as the car comes to a stop he jumps out and takes her out of her car seat. The Kid just keeps throwing up and crying and refusing to look at me. This is when the fear sets in. Head injury + vomit = Big Problems. When she stops puking for a minute we strap her back in the car and call my cousin, the nurse. With a "if she was mine, I'd take her" we tear ass to the hospital.
Now, this is the time when every bad scenario plays in your head: what this means, what they'll do to her in the hospital, everything. I have got to stay calm. As much as I would like to start screaming and crying too, I bite my lip and get to the ER in record time.
After filling out paperwork and rehashing the story four separate times to various nurses, office personnel, and my father (Oh yes, he was there. Did you think he'd miss an opportunity to worry about something beyond his control?) we're back in a room and seriously antsy. The doctor finally comes in and says hello very unenthusiastically. He takes a cursory glance at The Kid and says "I think we'll do a CT scan" and leaves. Come again?
So, let's look at the pros and cons:
Pro: They'll be able to look inside The Kid's head and make sure nothing's rattling
Con: She may glow in the dark and/or grow a third nipple from the radiation.
(Yes, I'm that mother.)
After I get Dr. Bedside Manner back in the room to explain to me exactly why it's prudent to stick my kid in this machine (he actually made a valid point... through gritted teeth.) we head down to the CT room and this is where my second panic attack begins.
If you've even seen those slick GE health care commercials (or watched your fair share of House) you know how one of those fancy electrical-doughnut-thingys work: you lay on a table, completely still, and it slides you in for a minute and then back out. No big deal, right? Wrong. News to me: you have to strap children down. No, not just 'strap down'. You have to wrap up them up like a mummy, lay a lead vest over them, put foam chocks on the side of their head so they don't wiggle, then put a strap over their body and forehead. Yeah; all that. So here I am , holding her down telling her "It's ok! It'll be over in just a minute" while she gives me that look and screaming what I'm sure translates to "I hate you woman! Get me out of this damn thing or I will suffocate you in your sleep!". Finally the machine stops and I pull her out of the straps. She climbs me like a spider monkey and gives me a look that says 'You better give me a good Christmas after all this crap or I really will kill you'. Glad to see she's feeling better.
We get back to the room and start the waiting game. After the longest 30 minutes of my life, the doctor comes in to give us the good news: She didn't knock herself stupid and DCS was not coming to take my child. Hurray. As we get ready to head home I tell The Kid "You better never scare me like that again".
In case you were wondering, first thing the next morning she climbed on the ottoman and stood up just to dare me. I believe she lives to watch me slowly die. Ahh, motherhood.
