Wednesday, July 8, 2009

Two kids and a bucket ...

bucket, originally uploaded by toyfoto.

Round about bedtime, after having lounged on the couch watching TV curled in a ball all evening, Ittybit started screaming that she was in pain.

SCREAMING. Her stomach hurt.

She begged for the medicine I had wanted to give her an hour before - medicine that she'd refused - when I felt her head and it seemed hot.

She had been complaining of pain since the afternoon. Just the low-grade, lay on the couch variety. The kind that makes a parent wonder if she's really sick or just trying to get one more episode of The Moose Channel. It was nothing like the doubled over, nonsensical speech kind I was now witnessing.

I called the doctors' service and left a message. I explained to the doctor on call what was happening. ... most of these stomach complaints, I know, turn out to be constipation (a condition my girl knows well) or gastroenteritis or who knows. But some turn out to be medical or surgical emergencies, such as appendicitis.

I wasn't use to the level of pain she was expressing.

I looked up appendicitis, by way of "acute abdominal pain in children" and Google.

It didn't seem likely, but I couldn't get it out of my head.

She was tired and wanted to sleep after I gave her some ibuprophen.

Her father read to her and slept near by just incase it got worse.

Her skin was cool when she awoke in the morning, and for a while she said her stomach felt better. Slowly, as we were getting ready for the day, the pain returned.

I called the doctor's office and got an appointment; I hustled them off into the car and off we went.

Ittybit saying how this may be the worst day of her life, and inquiring as to how much longer it would take to get there; Silas quietly watching out of the window until we arrive;. "Mama, scared, mama!"

Almost as soon as we got inside and gave them our names, she was in the restroom near the fish tank, vomiting.

Still, she was trying to console her little brother, who's recent well-baby visit -- complete with blood testing -- seemed torture enough for one year.

The nurse handed Ittybit a small basin, and guided us into the exam room. The doctor was the one on call from the night before. She listened with her stethoscope and pushed here and there with her fingers.

Seems like some garden variety virus.

Take her home, limit water, watch for signs of something worse.

As I was checking out, the doctor returned with a canister of stickers for the kids to choose from.

The girl quietly selected a princess sticker without her usual need to go through each and every picture to decide; and the boy immediately saw what he wanted ... a dump truck (although when he says it it sounds remarkably like an unmentionable sexual position). The doctor laughs.

I laugh, too. I feel better. Happy even, to be referred home rather than to the ER, where I had feared we'd wind up.

I barely noticed the boy's skin getting warmer as he waved goodbye to the doctor, happily, in my arms.

Lather, rinse repeat. Such is life with two.


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