Earlier in the week I had to take one of my boys to the emergency room for the first time. It was an awful experience. Being luckily unfamiliar with emergency rooms, I took Tate to the closest one. Unfortunately it was not the right one. Had I known better, I would have taken my baby to Children's Hospital- instead I took him where I was afraid to let him touch anything... where there were people sleeping uncomfortably on waiting room chairs, where the light was unreasonably bright, where we waited from 1am until 4:40am and never saw a doctor.
the only positive in this experience, is that I learned where I should not ever take any one of my kids or myself for that matter. Luckily it happened in a situation that was not life threatening.
Tate had a fever of 105. his normally rosy cheeks were roasted red, and his angel lips were swollen with sick. His playful laugh and constant brightness were being squashed by the flu. I was scared like I had never been scared before. It took 48 hours of fever-all suppositories (my husband still thinks Tate will be scarred from this) because he refuses to swallow tylenol syrup, lots of sleep, lots of liquid and a never ending amount of love for him to get better.
Now we're sick. I'm in a house of sick. There are bottles of cheerfully colored syrups all over my counter and kleenex boxes strewn all over the house. The Fall breeze at least brings some relief to the stagnant air in this little compound... I've got the windows open, short ribs braising, a husband in bed, a child in front of the babysitter, a child snoring an obstructed snore in his crib, and I'm trying to hold on to my last few inches of sanity.
get well soon.