My Four Copays --Caution: The squeamish should proceed with care

Let me tell you about my weekend. . . and the beginning of my week.

On Friday, things were good. I didn't particularly feel like cooking; having just gotten to the end of a month of scraping by, I wanted a little splurge (even though my husband rationally--and uncharacteristically for either of us!--argued that if we didn't splurge, we could have a bigger splurge for the after-graduation mini-celebration), and decided to go get some drive-through, notch-above-fast-food-Mexican for dinner. I took Doodle with me to give my husband some (relative) peace! So we came home and Doodle went through her latest coming-home ritual--she ran to the stepping-stones between the two apartment buildings and started following the path. Just as I was reminding her not to run, she flew through the air and landed with her knee on the very edge of the stone. I scooped her up, bleeding, and ran into the house to wash it & apply pressure. Well, the gash was deep, so I called the insurance nurse line. Their standard reply seems to be "go to the emergency room" (it's their "limitation of liability" line--not nurse line!) and so we were advised, because the wound was opening when she bent her knee, and also to check out the kneecap, to go to the hospital. We were seen rather quickly, which was good since the waiting room was full of people throwing up. I was concerned that Doodle would be a bit freaked out by the spectacle, but she was fine. In fact, she was the Belle of the ER. She got grape juice, 3 sheets of stickers, some Motrin for the soreness, and the most expensive bandaid I've ever purchased in my life, and we returned home for a peaceful night (and our dinner). Well, sort of. . .

When Doodle was checked into the ER, her temperature was 99.5, which by today's standards, counts as normal, though when I was growing up we called that a low-grade fever. Nothing to worry about, right? Remember, she had had Motrin. Well, she woke up at about 4:00 Saturday morning with much higher fever. It got as high as 102 that night; the next day, when it went up a degree to 103 after she had had Ibuprofin, I decided to take her to the "today clinic" instead of chancing another pricey (and unnecessary) ER visit if the medicine wouldn't bring down the fever. Of course it did. By the time we had her checked in to the "today clinic," her temperature was normal. But it was still good to have her checked. Her ears were normal; her throat was a little red. She had a badly executed strep test that came back negative. (She had been complaining about her throat.) Nothing conclusive. So we went home. Well, throughout the weekend, the fever continued to spike from 101-102 when the medicine wore off. She woke up burning hot & shaky each night. Monday, I called her doctor's office and spoke to the nurse, who said that they usually say that after fever has continued for 3 days, they want to see the child. She offered to get her in that afternoon, but I waited until Tuesday anyway. I missed my last class because the babies were sleeping and I was not going to wake a feverish child to leave. My husband picked up their response papers.

All of this time, she had been in a relatively good mood--for a sick child. In fact, she was incredibly sweet. Sunday night, she started with some nasal congestion, and the mood shifted. She is much more irritable. So after another feverish night Monday night, we took her in to her appointment. It seems that hers was the 4th or 5th case of exactly these symptoms--with the congestion at the end of the 3 or 4 days--that he had seen. (I love this doctor, btw. I can't imagine a better pediatrician.) So we figure, the worst is probably over. We hope. I asked him about an ongoing problem we have been having with Doodle that is making potty-training absolute HELL. All throughout June she would have off-and-on diarrhea-like symptoms. It was awful. It would start at the beginning of the week, and by the end, after much yogurt, she was fine. And this had started happening in conjunction with the virus. The doctor explained that he calls this kind of thing "toddler diarrhea," or "slick gut" or "Schlitterban gut" (after the water park). What happens is that from eating certain kinds of fruits and drinking certain fruit juices, the acids burn away the tendrils of the vilii in the intestines. This causes a problem with absorption of nutrients and leads to the rapid passage of all of the food from the body. The remedy is a high-fat diet, milk fat in particular. Mandarin oranges are the worst for causing this, and they are her favorite fruit, and have been since she was a very young toddler. Needless to say, it was a relief to know how to prevent and cure this condition!! So we went home, anticipating a peaceful afternoon. . .

Well, let me start by saying that at 9 months, my Chiclette is further along in her mobility than either of the other children have been. She not only crawls and sits, she stands, shuffles, and climbs (onto our wooden futon-sofa). She also falls. A lot. She has hit herself more times on that wooden futon than Doodle EVER did. Usually she cries a little & gets up again with no problem. You know where this is going, right? So yesterday afternoon, she took one of her now-famous spills and hit her mouth on the futon, causing her two little bottom teeth (presumably) to cut a nice slit in the very tip of her little tongue. And as with any mouth injury, there was blood everywhere. I scooped her up, found a washcloth, cold water, and ice, and started reviewing my options. ER? Not if I can help it. Call my husband? Not without a plan of action. Call my mom? Not this time. Call my friend with 3 kids, who might have a suggestion? Call my sister to come help me take the kids? No, she can't drive & I would lose time picking her up. All of this in the first 1:35 minutes after it happened. So I called the pediatrician's office. Having gotten past the reception desk with careful phrasing ("It's not an emergency, but I have a quick question about a mouth injury. Can I have a direct line to the nurse?"), I learned that both doctors' nurses were busy (the ones we see, anyway), and then, considering further, I decided to make an appointment, only to find out that they were booked, so effectively, the only way to get in was to speak to a nurse. So I left a message for them to call and made plans to head to that "today clinic" again. . . (Keep in mind that we had been to see the pediatrician with Doodle that morning!!) I had my son call my husband to meet us (his boss gave him a ride, as I have our vehicle), grabbed ice and a couple of washcloths (one fell on the ground and had to be thrown back into the house as we left), gave my son a pep talk about staying cool in emergency situations and doing what needs to be done (I operate well on adrenaline) as he struggled with nausea and prepared to be the one in the back to administer the icy washcloth in the baby mouth. Doodle was very concerned. While I was on the phone, she kept saying, "Baby B--- a hurt you! A hurt you?" She brought Chiclette the baby dress I was making to try to make her happy. Doodle was crying in the car to see the blood. So I had Doodle start singing "Frere Jacques"--in French and English--to calm the Chiclette. So we arrived; my husband arrived, and Chiclette and I were shown to the room fairly soon for a walk-in clinic, while Brother, Sister, and Daddy waited in the waiting room. For a long time. While phonecalls were made and I waited with only a few bits of gauze (and then ice that I commandeered from a housekeeping person, and some wax cups that are in the room, a sink, some papertowels, and eventually a washcloth, when it was time to leave) trying to stem the still-bleeding tongue. She wanted to nurse--that was a mess. :( I was very concerned about the blood she was swallowing.

By way of wrapping up a long story, they don't put stitches in tongues (thankfully, actually) if they can help it, and I was assured that it WOULD stop bleeding. We were sent home, not particularly peacefully, to deal with the bleeding as best we could. A few more scares that night--I gave her Tylenol, and she almost immediately threw up, and that was pretty gruesome. Now, if my son is a little squeamish, my husband is more so, perhaps owing to a sibling's bloody injury he witnessed as a child. So throughout the night, I was either ordering him to leave the room and NOT to help lest he turn a few shades of green (poor thing!!) and throw up or pass out or WATCHING him turn green. :( But you know, you can't blame someone for that kind of thing, and though he felt bad, I was in control of the blood as long as he was in charge of the toddler (and some bloody laundry). She went through a few outfits, three bibs, but gradually, gradually, the bleeding began to be less frequent, and bleed less each time. She did sleep a bit, which allowed the wound to rest without her messing with it! Finally, after about 6 hours, it stopped bleeding. I had to feed her solids in spite of the bleeding to keep her from crying, which would have made it worse. We did chill the food so it would be somewhat soothing, and the feeding went surprisingly well in spite of the blood. Nursing made it start up once. She drank a LOT of ice water--we were advised to give her lots of fluids. But it ended.

I carry my tension in my shoulders, and let me tell you about the knots I had! It's one thing when an injury occurs, is patched, and everyone moves on. It's another thing to have to deal with this kind of bleeding for hours, worried about what toys she can play with, trying to minimize the mess, stop the flow, keep her happy. But we all survived. And everyone slept pretty well last night, considering. Many prayers were said throughout the evening.

Oh! And Chiclette now finds herself confined to a much smaller space--with no furniture.