Poo is monitored very closely in our household....Samantha's anyway. When Samantha's poopin', life is good.
It's the simple things I hold onto.
So, Tuesday night when Samantha's belly looked big and distended, I started to get worried. When she was up all night with tummy pains, I became a little more concerned and when 'interventional measures' failed to produce the desired result, I called the doctor.
After several hours and a 103 spiking temp, I threw in the towel and loaded the family into the station wagon, Children's bound.
If you can avoid the emergency room at Children's right now, do...at all costs. It's a nasty, fluey crowded, angry place to be. I lathered Samantha with Purel, took a deep breath, hitched up my big girl pants and headed through the doors.
At triage, we discovered that Samantha's temp had jumped from 103 to a big, whooping 106. Not 100.6 one-o-six.
"I've never seen a temp that high." The triage nurse said.
I was trying to keep from hyperventilating.
"Here's some Motrin. You can wait outside and we'll call her name."
"You're not taking her back now?????" I asked.
"We don't have a room."
"Will it just be a second?"
"Well, we're pretty full."
"But....you said you've never seen a temp that high. She has a mitochondrial disorder, she could crash at any time." What the fickin' hell???!!!
"I said that I've never seen a temp that high. I'm sure someone around here has."
I left the room in disbelief. Seriously? No wonder people ape-shit in Emergency Rooms. I fact I could feel a little ape-shittiness coming on.
Fortunately, I had my conveted Bat Phone. You know, the Bat Signal...when Gotham City is in trouble? Instead of big Bat Wings, ours is in the shape of a big 'E' for our fabulous pediatrician. I dialed her super, secret cell phone number.
"Dr. E? We're here. Samantha has a temp of 106."
"106? Oh shit." (This is the first curse word I've ever heard Dr. E say in our 3 year relationship).
"They have us in the waiting room," I felt my voice break.
"I'll make a call."
We were called into a room one minute later and Dr. E came down to consult with the ER Doc. Thank goodness for the 'E-Phone'.
Samantha's temp slowly came down and today she is resting fever-free. We are also managing the tummy issue with slow but consistent success. She has been tested for every virus and bacteria imaginable. We are hoping it is a bad case of the flu. What a hope, eh?
We have also decided that when Samantha gets sick, her tummy and its associated parts stop moving. We are now and forever more on high-risk poop patrol.
Samantha was admitted up to the 8th floor after her short stay in the ER. On my way up to the room, I ran into the triage nurse.
"Hey Mom, we get that fever under control?"
"She's at 104 right now."
"Fevers can be scary but they really don't do any harm," He said.
I resisted the urge to morph into my praying mantis state and tell him what a complete moron he is.
Out in the waiting room, the crowd had grown; sick, tired kids, parents with strained faces and wide worried eyes. When I walked through the doors they looked up at me and then away with disgust. I wasn't a nurse coming out to call their name. I wasn't a doctor; just another parent...getting in the way of who they needed to see.
I looked down and realized that in the midst of trying to control Samantha's fever and getting her tummy to start moving that I had landed a little poopy on my shoe. Kind like a little medal of honor....congrats, you survived the ER during flu season...have some poo
My husband convinced me I should probably clean it off.