Yesterday we had to take the McKid to the emergency room. She has been battling gastroenteritis this week, and we finally lost the hydration battle. We couldn't keep enough fluids down her to make up for the upchuck fluid loss. We had been in contact daily with the nurse at the pediatrician's office and the nurse practitioner. Yesterday at 1:15, they decided it had gone on long enough and sent us to Cook Children's Medical Center in Fort Worth.
They hooked her up to an IV (three pokes to get it--the perils of dehydration!). That was hard. Watching a baby scream "They are hurting me Mama, make them stop!" when you can't make them stop is awful. I had one hand holding McKid and one hand holding McKid's mom--who was bravely trying not to cry herself.
After getting some antinausea drugs into her, and a bunch of fluid, we had to go off to get a sonogram of her tummy--because she was tender in the area of her appendix. Fortunately, that was just from throwing up.
She perked up miraculously--wonderful what a little moisture will do to a dried up kid! But I was sitting there whining (in my head--not out loud)--"Here I am in ANOTHER hospital waiting room. Why me and mine? How come all this is happening at once. I'm tired of it!" And waaah, waaah, waaah, on and on.
And then in my head, I heard Benjamin's voice (he's my guardian angel, you know). "Get over yourself, Terry. There are people in this very building living your worst nightmare. You and McKid and McKid's mama are all going home today. There are some here who will never go home." And that's true.
What a kick in the posterior. A lesson learned.
Thank you, Benjamin. Thank you, God. And I'm sorry I'm so hard headed.