I think my boys play the "who can give mommy a bigger heart attack" game. This week they both submitted pretty good entries...
JC went on a field trip on Tuesday. To some nature place. (Does it make me a terrible mother that I can't remember the exact name?) When I picked him up from daycare, I was greeted at the door with "Guess what momma! My bus was in an accident and hit a big truck!"
I spent the next 20 minutes trying to piece together what had actually happened based on the rambling of an excited 7 year old who was thrilled to have his mother's rapt attention. Basically, from what I gathered, is that the bus he was on was hit by an 18 wheeler on the way back to the school. They weren't going that fast, and there were no serious injuries (2 kids hit their heads, but were alright). I was incredibly worried though, because earlier in the day I had seen a story about a much more serious bus crash on the news.
Why wasn't I called? You would think in a situation like that, administrators would want to inform the parents themselves instead of letting the story be told by an overzealous 7 year old with a flair for the dramatic. This school district is famous for the recording phone calls to pass on information, so at the very least I would have expected that. But no. Radio silence. Awesome.
2 days later, I did get the recorded message, stating "If you have questions about Tuesday's field trip, please call the principal". Wow, way to be on top of that one.
K woke up on Wednesday not feeling very well, but without a fever or any tangible symptoms, so he headed to school. About 11 A.M. I got the call. You know, the one from the school nurse saying you have 30 minutes to pick up your child. I had a seriously undermanned accounting dept. that day, so I had no choice but to go get him, stop by the house and pick up blankets, pillows, popsicles, movies, and my laptop, and then head back to work with him in tow. He spent the afternoon on the floor by my desk watching movies and eating snacks while I worked. He didn't seem to mind though, since he had lots of company from employees coming in and out. By the time we were headed home, he had fallen asleep, and I thought he was starting to feel better.
I was wrong.
By 7 PM, whatever he had settled into his lungs and he was struggling to breathe. This scared him, so he started crying, which made his lungs tighten up more, which scared him more, which made him cry harder. This cycle continued for a while. After calming him down and giving him a bath to cool the fever, I decided it was time to head to the doctor.
The urgent care center took one look at us and sent us to the ER, where his breathing was continuing to get worse. They took us back immediately and gave him not 1, not 2, but 3 breathing treatments back to back trying to clear his airways. The chest xrays showed that his right lung was a mess, and they started talking admission into the hospital.
Long story short - multiple breathing treatments, a move to the other ER, steroid treatments, more breathing treatments, and lots of tylenol later, they decided we could go home, with instructions to watch him carefully the next couple of days and make sure he has an albuterol inhaler close by. So we made the trek home, at 1 A.M. Everyone was exhausted, but grateful K was okay.
My boys certainly keep life interesting...