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| my glamorous life |
| 06.17.04 (9:42 am) [edit] |
Yesterday was the eighth anniversary of my husband's and my marriage. He had offered to take me out on the night of our anniversary, but I declined since it was a school night. So instead, we put the kids to bed early (with no residual whining or crying), relaxed over a candlelit dinner and bottle of champagne, and then snuggled in bed to watch a movie before making love for hours and sleeping in each other's arms. Okay, stop gagging. Here's what really happened yesterday: 6:30 am: DH leaves for work 7:30 am: I drop off Jake at preschool, having to practically drag Danny away from the school (he loves it there) 8:30 am: I drop Danny off at our friend Sally's house (Sally uses our nanny on Wednesdays, and our youngest kids play together there.) 8:55 am: I get to work. After logging in, I text-message DH to let him know I still haven't found a babysitter for Saturday night (our scheduled date for the anniversary) but will keep trying. 9:05 am: DH messages me back: [i]Not enough $$ on hand for our dinner out. Sorry. Happy anniversary, though![/i] 9:10 am: I find out that one of my friends will babysit after all, and message DH back: [i]How about a movie? We've got passes & coupons...[/i] 10:30 am: Nanny calls from Sally's. Danny has thrown up everywhere and has a fever. I let her know I have an 11:00 meeting I can't miss, but will leave after that to pick him up. 11:50 am: Meeting over, I call the nanny. Danny is now playing peacefully; she thinks he's okay. I continue working. 1:30 pm: I call the nanny. Danny has now fallen asleep. He does feel warm, though. She thinks I should let him nap there and then pick him up. I continue working. 2:00 pm: I return to my desk from a water break to find the nanny has called. Danny woke up almost immediately and he still feels feverish, even though she gave him Tylenol. I let my boss know the baby is sick and leave to pick him up. 3:15 pm: I leave Sally's with a cheerful, if sleepy, Danny in tow. We stop at Dominicks to get a few groceries. 3:45 pm: Shortly after walking into the store with Danny sitting in the shopping cart, he looks up and pukes everywhere. His favorite big blankie is with him and puddled with yuck. I am speechless and paralyzed. 3:48 pm: Nice produce manager sees what has happened and brings me a huge roll of paper towels and a box for garbage. Then he comes back again with a new pack of baby wipes, which he opens and holds while I mop up Danny. 3:55 pm: Danny's shoes are knotted into a plastic bag, and his blankie in another. He is very calm, probably shell-shocked. The manager is incredibly nice and brushes off my embarrassment: "I've got two kids, and they throw up all the time. In fact, they're probably both doing it right now at home." 4:45 pm: I get to Jakey's school. Knowing I've got some clean clothes of his there, I strip Danny down to his diaper and carry him into the school. We head to a changing table, mop him up and change his diaper, and then bundle him into his brother's t-shirt, with a pair of his brother's Jockey shorts over his diaper so he won't take it off. 4:55 pm: I scrub my hands and face with scalding water at the two-foot-high sink. 5:00 pm: Jacob announces he won't leave school until he's done playing. Exhausted, I require him to ask nicely if he can stay for five minutes, then sit down and chat with a teacher while my kids play. 5:25 pm: Jacob admonishes me for not bringing him a snack, despite the fact that Sally usually picks him up from school, not me. He wants a treat. I'm worn down completely, so I whisper to him that, if he'll keep it a secret, I'll get him McDonalds. The second condition is that he can't eat it until Danny goes to sleep. 6:00 pm: I get the kids, the groceries, my backpack, Jacob's artwork, letters from school, water bottles, McDonald's, and stinky bags of puke-drenched clothes inside. 6:10 pm: Danny is in his crib. Jacob is at his little table in the living room, watching The Simpsons. I place his Mighty Kids Meal in front of him, check the mail, and collapse on the sofa with a McChicken. 6:28 pm: I ask Jacob to go brush his teeth. 6:30 pm: I ask Jacob to go brush his teeth. 6:35 pm: I insist that Jacob go brush his teeth, and lead him into the bathroom. 6:38 pm: I collapse on my bed, only to hear Danny wailing from his crib. 6:40 pm: I carry Danny into my room. I'm afraid to give him a bottle assuming (probably correctly) that he'll just throw it up all over us. He is sobbing piteously and clutching me. I rock him back and forth, then side to side. I try standing but his foot is digging into my side where my incisions are, so I sit back down. 6:50 pm: Jacob comes in and wonders why Danny is crying. He wonders if he can draw pictures. He wonders where Daddy is. He wonders what day it is. He wonders if toothpaste has sugar in it. He wonders if McDonald's is good for him. I wonder if he can put his Pull-Up on (he can). 6:55 pm: I begin sobbing along with Danny. 7:05 pm: DH rolls in (he blades from the bus stop a few miles away). He is carrying his laptop backpack and a giant bouquet of roses (from a florist, not Costco). 7:06 pm: I'm crying as hard as Danny now. DH tries to take him to settle him, but he won't leave my shoulder. Jacob tries to take the roses, but DH won't let him. He tells them they're a special present for Mommy, and rolls into the kitchen to put them down. 7:15 pm: Danny is in the bathtub and finally calm. Jacob is bouncing around like Tigger, talking a mile a minute. I'm bleary-eyed and dumb with fatigue; I can't respond to anything. I put the roses in water and insist that Jacob and I go read a bedtime story, even though he wants Daddy to do it. 7:35 pm: Both the kids are PJ'd and want a drink. I bring bottles of water to both kids, and settle next to Danny. DH reads Danny's favorite book, but Danny still won't leave my side. He clutches me and sips his water. 7:45 pm: I try to put Danny to bed and he sobs, then kicks me accidentally in the side. I put him down for a second and he races out of the nursery and into our bedroom again. 7:55 pm: Jacob is on DH's shoulders and Danny is in his arms, and both kids lean over to give me kisses. DH carries them off to bed. 8:05 pm: DH comes back to the bedroom, triumphant, damp and exhausted. I'm slack-jawed, staring unseeing at the cover of my book. I'm pulled out of my stupor by a few bites of Ben & Jerry's low-fat. 9:50 pm: I fall asleep. 12:30 am: Danny's crying wakes me. DH goes to get him and bring him to me. He's begging for a bottle. I give him a watered-down bottle of Ovaltine and wrap us both in a big towel. He drinks for a minute, then coughs, sputters, and spits it back up. 1:00 am: Danny's fussy and miserable. DH awakens every 15 minutes or so and murmurs something comforting to Danny, then falls back asleep. 3:15 am: Danny has finally passed out cold on my bed. Terrified to wake him, I slip out of bed and hit the sofa. 3:30 am: I'm wide awake. Cursing my fate, I grab a book. 6:00 am: DH wakes me as he's getting ready for work. My face is glued to the open book by my own drool. I drag myself off the sofa and into the shower. 7:30 am: I'm on my way to work, opening my eyes extra wide to keep them from drooping. 8:45 am: I finally get to work and start the day with a Diet Coke. 11:30 am: I call home. The nanny tells me Danny is begging to eat but has already thrown up three times. I call the pediatrician's office and leave a message. 12:00 pm: I check my cell phone, wondering if the nurse has called there instead of my desk. No messages. 12:30 pm: I grab some diced chicken and fruit from the cafeteria's salad bar and head back to my desk. 12:45 pm: I check my messages and find one from one of the nurses; she says to call back and press the extension for "urgent" calls. 12:46 pm: I call and press the appropriate button, and am reprimanded for using it by another nurse. Finally, I get the original nurse on the phone, only to be told Danny must go to the hospital. 1:02 pm: I call home and advise the nanny I'll be picking up Danny in an hour or so, and ask could she please stay with Jake until my husband or I return? 1:05 pm: I jump into my trusty Corolla and barrel onto 94 eastbound. 2:00 pm: I screech to a stop in front of my building and double-park, too wretched to worry about backing into a parking spot. I run inside and the nanny has dressed Danny in something comfy, and packed two diapers, baby wipes, a book and another outfit. I grab an extra handful of diapers, a couple of receiving blankets, a few toys, and a bottle. The nanny comes outside to help me get Danny, the stroller, and the bag full of stuff into the car. 2:40: I am idling in back of a long line of cars at Children's Memorial Hospital, awaiting a valet parking attendant. I'm sweating and my heart feels fluttery. Danny is quiet, almost lethargic, in his little rocket seat behind me. Finally, I jump out of the car and run to the front of the cars, only to discover most of them are empty. I let a valet attendant know I have to get my son into the ER, and he hands me the slip and takes my keys. 2:50 pm: I am given an ER pass and told to head around the corner and down the hall. 2:55 pm: I am re-directed to the proper place. 3:30 pm, Danny and I are now ensconced in an ER room the size of a walk-in closet. There is a scrub sink, a many-drawered cabinet on wheels, a narrow hospital bed, a bunch of medical hookups, and a small TV hanging in a corner. 3:45 pm: A nurse and doctor have come in to take a look at Danny. His vitals are okay, but his temp is low and his eyes are all sunken in. His eyelids are very red, but his cheeks very pale. My poor baby. The doctor wants to get him on an IV, and potentially have his abdomen X-rayed to rule out an obstruction. I tell her we'll do whatever they think is necessary. 4:00 pm: A second doc has vetoed the first. She seems to think Danny is fine, and says he should drink something first (I think she wants me to prove he's vomited 10 times in two days). They bring apple juice and a popsicle, which Danny vehemently refuses. He takes two sips of apple juice, starts to cough, and from then on, won't let anything pass his lips. 5:00 pm: A new doc sends the IV technician in. Danny has now not had a wet diaper in 12 hours. The IV tech is amazing; he's an EMT who moonlights there in the ER. The nurse assisting, though, has the personality of sugarless pudding. Ed, the EMT, swaddles Danny in a sheet, leaving just one arm loose. Danny begins to panic and sob. The nurse is holding Danny's arm at the shoulder, and I'm lying across the bottom of the bed, holding his feet and lower legs so he doesn't kick Ed's hand away. 5:25 pm: Danny now has his IV in. It's taped to his hand, which is then splinted, and then braced in a velcro sleeve, and then taped shut. He's beyond outraged, and absolutely miserable. I'm still crying along with him, and I hold him on my lap so the unsympathetic nurse can check his vitals. 5:30 pm: I murmur to Danny that maybe we can take a walk with his IV down to the gift shop and get him a little toy or book to take his mind off the pain. 5:31 pm: The nurse says "Oh, are you spoiled, Daniel?" 5:32 pm: I restrain myself by grinding my teeth together and pressing my feet into the floor. Mentally, I slap the little bitch with Danny's IV machine. Out loud, I say, "I think babies who barf up water and have total strangers poking needles into them are allowed to have a treat. Can we please take a walk with his IV?" 5:45 pm: I head down the hall. I'm pushing Danny in his stroller with my right hand and navigating the IV machine with my left. Danny finally begins to settle down. 6:00 pm: We go back into Danny's room. He didn't show interest in anything at the gift shop; not even balloons. That's how you know my kid is sick. Back in the room, I settle him into my lap to watch Shrek. This is the 2nd time through for us so far today. 6:35 pm: Another doctor comes in and stops the IV machine from beeping. Danny has had 260 mls so far. She wants to see if he'll pee; she thinks perhaps this is a urinary tract infection. She says they can catheterize him, and I beg her not to. Instead, a nurse brings in a sterile packet that turns out to hold a plastic baggie attached to a foam ring. Danny is not pleased when he's put back on the bed and made to lie still. The foam ring sits at the base of his penis, and the bag stays inside his diaper. I'm told to let them know when he pees. 7:00 pm: Shrek count: 2 1/2. I step into the hall to try to find the nurse, and am rudely told that we have to wait for him to pee, otherwise they'll catheterize him, and they thought I didn't want that? I simply explain I thought he might have peed by now, and didn't know how long we should wait. 7:30 pm: Shrek count: 3, Finding Nemo begins. The doctor checks in on us and discovers from me that Danny has still not peed. She starts up another round of the IV. 8:30 pm: Shrek count: 3 going on 4 (Danny didn't want to stick with Nemo). My little baby is getting exhausted now. The doctor comes in to shut off the IV again; he now has a half-liter of fluids rushing through his veins. He begs for a bottle, but won't drink. 8:40 pm: I check his diaper, and miraculously the little baggie has something in it! The news is proclaimed throughout the kingdom, and a nurse comes to remove the evidence. 9:00 pm: I sneak sips from a bottle of Coke while rocking Danny in the stroller. He won't sit on the bed, even in my lap, and he is so exhausted. 9:15 pm: The doctor comes back and says there is no sign of infection from his urine sample. She says she would normally keep him overnight for observation, but it's pretty clear he won't sleep there. 9:40 pm: We are dismissed from the ER with instructions to return if Danny begins vomiting again. I'm starved, but so exhausted and weak I can't even fathom driving through McDonald's. 10:05 pm: We're home. Danny is relieved and relaxes for the first time in what seems like days. I put him to bed and sink into my own, only to be told by DH: "The cat is sick. He had diarrhea all over my office." |
posted by: almsthvn (reply)
post date: 06.30.04 (12:47 pm)
Happy Anniversary? !
Did they ever figure out what was wrong with Danny? Poor lil Cinnamon :(
posted by: JT (reply)
post date: 07.01.04 (6:38 am)
Reply to: almsthvn
His official diagnosis?
"Vomiting."
See, anyone can be a doctor! (I'm just kidding, all you qualified medical professionals....)
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