Tuesday, September 18, 2007
Because life wasn't exciting enough....
So we were done shopping and loading our things into the van. And the phone rings.
I have ringtones for a select few. I know I have talked about them before ... the Mominator has The Godfather. Mini Martha has The Odd Couple.
I really should set something like The Death March to the schools' ringtones.
It was the Queen's school. And not just the secretary .... the dreaded SCHOOL NURSE!
Waiting to hear that the Queen had a headache, or her stomach was hurting her, I stood in the parking lot, tensing up.
But it wasn't that at all. She had taken a "spill" on the playground.
Ok. Fine. This is the same child who took the header off the bus when she was in Kindergarten... that was a good one, let me tell you. So I thought "all right, they want me to talk to her to tell her to go back to class."
Nope. They had sent her back to class after icing the goose egg on her head, but she had returned, complaining of feeling "wobbly" and nauseous.
Of course, the first thought through my head was: concussion. So off to the ER we went.... the first time.
The first time, the Queen looked ok. She was perky. I thought "WHY am I here with you?!?!" The Monkey decided that riding the doctor's chair around the room was good entertainment. I thought so, too ... until she started to climb up on it. And then we were looking at a twofer visit if I didn't get her down. So she was relegated to just riding the seat around, and got a curt "get DOWN from there" when I saw her getting all Monkey-like.
The doc took a look at the Queen, felt the back of her head, said "I don't like to overexpose these kids, so I'm not going to order any scans. She is going to be just fine. I will send you home with a list of things to look for ... if you see any of those, bring her back in IMMEDIATELY!"
So we got our marching orders, and started to take off. I had given the Queen an ibuprofen. And then the games began.
She immediately stated that she felt like she was going to throw up. So she hung over the trashcan. The nurse said "well maybe she's hungry...." so she immediately handed us a package of crackers and a barf bag and sent us on our way.
We didn't even get home before the Queen used that bag.
We got home, she barreled past the Monkey in the van, ran into the house, and laid down in our bedroom with a trashcan. Which she immediately started to use.
Throwing up more than once is one of the signs.
Then she started crying that her head was hurting worse than ever.
The headache getting worse, not better, is another one of those signs.
So the ER was called, they told us to come back immediately, and a CaTscan would be ordered.
We arrived, they scanned, and we sat. And sat. And sat. And sat.
And the Queen got better. And better. And better. To the point that I kept telling her to sit down.
And I sat there, thinking that we had just wasted everyone's time.
You see, the Queen ... when she has a massive headache (we used to think it was migraines), she does this same thing. But when it is so close to a head injury, you have to wonder.
We FINALLY received the green light well over two hours after the scan, rushed off to get the Monkey from dance class so Ace could take the Man to his first Scout meeting, and promptly ran through Taco Bell, where the Queen ordered a Nachos Supreme and a soft taco.
And she snarfed those down like they were being taken away from her at any minute. And threw a fit that her brother was wearing one of her shirts (that was MY fault ... shoot, it was gray), and had gotten a stain on it.
So I would say we are in the clear.
For another day, of course.
posted by Knitting Maniac at 6:56 AM
I'm a mom of three peeps ... Queen Bee, The Door Man, and the Chandelier Monkey, and wife to Ace, the Helpful Hardware Man. I created this space to get away from the people known as my inlaws, and because life with three kids and a hubby is all Unexplored Territory.
The nine-year-old who seems to be growing older every minute, has an opinion and a comment for everything, and has a true servant's heart.
The seven-year-old who loves the organization of things, will someday be someone's therapist because of his kind soul, and will more than likely be living with us until he is 40 years old.
The five-year-old with the 13-year-old attitude, who has a dictator's personality, asks you to watch her all the time and say "hold on" to keep your attention, and will someday come home on the back of some dude's motorcycle with 10 tatts and a body piercing or two.
The man of the house, the fixer of things, the winner of prizes, and the only person in his family to escape the South.
Mystic Pizza
Starting off on the wrong foot
A convo at our house
My 6 am dreams
This, my friends, is the true definition of TMI
Remember those Staples commercials...
Dear (Insert Name Here)
Wow... where IS your mother?
To My Little Man
Shhhh.... what's that I hear?
3 Comments:
OMG! Honey, yes your life definitely isn't exciting enough! What an ordeal. I'm just glad she's ok. Hope today is better :o)
Oy. What a day. I think most mom's have BTDT or close enough to relate. And the Monkey buzzing around on the doctor's chair. You would think by now that the medical profession would realize just how bad the idea of a chair with wheels in a patient's/ER room is. I mean, seriously! LOL!
FYI, ibuprofen is terribly hard on the tummy, so that may just have made her already sensitive from the headache belly worse. Might want to stick with tylenol for that girl.
Oh, oh! And thanks for directing people to my blog. I will never say anything bad about you shopping at Wally World. I know I have to sometimes (and it just gets my goat), but I still go.
I just feel I need to limit my exposure though. I know my IQ drops at least 5 points every time I go in there. LOL!
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