Doctor Mom
This Sunday evening finds me sitting on the couch, still in my pajamas. Instead of a typical Sunday filled with running back and forth, hither and thither, I haven't moved much today. My house is silent. Trent has gone home teaching and Lillian is, at last, sleeping.
We awoke this morning to the sound of her gasping with ragged, screechy breaths. When I got to her crib, I found her lying awake, eyes wild and frightened. I held her close and her little body felt like it was on fire. I called to Trent and ran back into our bedroom with her. She was clearly gasping for air.
We scrambled for the phone to reach the pediatrician, for the internet where medical information was just a few keystrokes away; I found I could barely catch my own breath as I tried to ensure my little one could get the air she needed. Several hours, a trip to the emergency room, a dose of steroids and some oxygen later, we were home.
Croup.
Remember the night that Minnie Mae got the croup and Anne Shirley and Diana were up all night striving to save her life? Who can forget the classic scene that made Diana and Anne bosom friends again and saved little Minnie Mae's life?
Not us, apparently, because as we were pulling out of the driveway on the way to the hospital, Trent looked at me and said, classically, "Did you know Gilbert Blythe is dying?" I burst out laughing right there in the front seat. Lillian managed a hoarse giggle, too. We needed just a touch of humor to help us through the drama of the moment.
After today, it feels like we've finished a 3 credit hour course in croup. Credits that count toward the doctoral degree in child illnesses that it seems like all parents should receive at the end of their child rearing. I say that because every time I talk to a friend who has a couple of children, nothing regarding Lillian's latest health scare seems to phase them.
Crashed her face into the cement? Ah, no big deal.
Has a giant black eye from falling in the bathtub? That's nothing! My kid fell down 6 flights of stairs wrapped in the wooden chair he was playing under.
Cried all night for no apparent reason? My baby did that for the first 6 years of her life!
Okay, maybe these scenarios are the teeniest bit exaggerated. And maybe they take me away from my real point. What I'm really in awe over is the countless mothers with whom I speak who know so much about all the various accidents and illnesses a child encounters, and with perfect calm and patience are able to help their children and comfort the newbie, clueless moms like me in need of guidance.
Experience is a mighty teacher, and dealing with the various sicknesses Lillian has encountered just in the last 3 months has certainly been no exception. It seems that I figure out the treatment for one illness just in time for another one I haven't ever heard of before (except from Anne Shirley, in this case) crops up. I call the pediatrician, I research online, and then I call my sisters and my friends who have children. They always know what to do.
I figure in about 10 years or so, I'll be the same.
We awoke this morning to the sound of her gasping with ragged, screechy breaths. When I got to her crib, I found her lying awake, eyes wild and frightened. I held her close and her little body felt like it was on fire. I called to Trent and ran back into our bedroom with her. She was clearly gasping for air.
We scrambled for the phone to reach the pediatrician, for the internet where medical information was just a few keystrokes away; I found I could barely catch my own breath as I tried to ensure my little one could get the air she needed. Several hours, a trip to the emergency room, a dose of steroids and some oxygen later, we were home.
Croup.
Remember the night that Minnie Mae got the croup and Anne Shirley and Diana were up all night striving to save her life? Who can forget the classic scene that made Diana and Anne bosom friends again and saved little Minnie Mae's life?
Not us, apparently, because as we were pulling out of the driveway on the way to the hospital, Trent looked at me and said, classically, "Did you know Gilbert Blythe is dying?" I burst out laughing right there in the front seat. Lillian managed a hoarse giggle, too. We needed just a touch of humor to help us through the drama of the moment.
After today, it feels like we've finished a 3 credit hour course in croup. Credits that count toward the doctoral degree in child illnesses that it seems like all parents should receive at the end of their child rearing. I say that because every time I talk to a friend who has a couple of children, nothing regarding Lillian's latest health scare seems to phase them.
Crashed her face into the cement? Ah, no big deal.
Has a giant black eye from falling in the bathtub? That's nothing! My kid fell down 6 flights of stairs wrapped in the wooden chair he was playing under.
Cried all night for no apparent reason? My baby did that for the first 6 years of her life!
Okay, maybe these scenarios are the teeniest bit exaggerated. And maybe they take me away from my real point. What I'm really in awe over is the countless mothers with whom I speak who know so much about all the various accidents and illnesses a child encounters, and with perfect calm and patience are able to help their children and comfort the newbie, clueless moms like me in need of guidance.
Experience is a mighty teacher, and dealing with the various sicknesses Lillian has encountered just in the last 3 months has certainly been no exception. It seems that I figure out the treatment for one illness just in time for another one I haven't ever heard of before (except from Anne Shirley, in this case) crops up. I call the pediatrician, I research online, and then I call my sisters and my friends who have children. They always know what to do.
I figure in about 10 years or so, I'll be the same.
Comments
I hope your sweet girl is better soon.
(If it makes you feel any better, I have four kids and I would have had no idea what to do with those symptoms either. Even more seasoned moms are prone to panic!)
May your sweet girl never get it again.