That about sums up my week.
I may or may not have a touch of the PTSD from our Children's ER run Tuesday night, because I'm pretty sure the urgent care people laughed at me when I left last night with Pinky in tow with a runny nose and a cough. But they were not there when I had to hold Zesty down Tuesday night to have an IV placed, or when I had to learn to use a nebulizer and determine signs of an asthma attack for my three-year-old. So they will just have to pardon me for being a leetle aggressive with my 15-month-old displaying the same symptoms less than 24 hours after we were released from the hospital.
I have a friend whose child has had extensive GI issues. She can probably write a series of books on how to survive weeks in a hospital room while her firstborn is helpless in the bed, tubes everywhere. I cannot imagine how their family endured that over several years, because I am still on an adrenaline high and listening for every paused breath.
Zesty made me so proud though - he was so polite and 98% cooperative with all of the entourage of doctors and nurses who paraded through our room. He said please and thank you, and even used the potty at the hospital.
Pinky does have an upper respiratory infection as well, but our pediatrician is confident that she will recover without any ill effects.
I'm hoping we can get them healthy before mine and Mr Lemon's upcoming trip, even though my sister is fully capable of caring for sick toddlers.
No comments:
Post a Comment