My Other Kid Swallowed a Pill….And I Didn’t Even Cry
Up until a few days ago, we’d been lucky enough to avoid any ER trips with our boys.
Until this happened on Sunday.
I must have boasted one too many times about this being our first ER trip ever, because then the universe went all fuck you- ya cocky bitch crazy on me.
Yesterday afternoon, I got Leo up from his nap, and was getting ready to make a run to the store to buy this thing they call food.
“First let me clean up a little,” I told the boys.
There were still a ton of boxes laying around, that I’d pulled from the closet-turned-art-room. I figured if I didn’t get that shit cleaned up, my husband wouldn’t be so supportive of my next project. These boxes had been shoved in the closet and forgotten about since we bought our house…six years ago!
In them, was a hodge podge of shit. Photos, old yearbooks, real skanky shorts I used to wear, and apparently….pills.
I set some toys out for the boys and plopped us all down on the floor, so I could begin sorting.
Luca and Leo were sitting one foot away from me, literally, when I heard Luca say, “Good boy, Leo! You took your medicine!”
I looked up to find Luca with a package of unfamiliar pills in his hand, with one pill missing…popped out the back of the package, like a piece of gum.
I grabbed the box he’d taken them out of to see what they were.
And, of course, all the wording was in Spanish.
Not so weird, being that we grew up on the border, where everyone used to hit the Mexican pharmacies. You know, for things like Ibuprofen, Retin-A , and roofies.
Sometimes our parents would send us care packages filled with Mole, Tamales and medicine, so I’m guessing this is where they came from.
Anyway, I did a quick Google search to try and figure out if Luca had just roofied his younger brother. After some searching, I figured out they were pills for IBS – or uterine and intestinal spasms.
I was somewhat relieved that Leo hadn’t been administered a date-rape drug, but still concerned enough -obviously- to call Poison Control.
The woman put me on hold while she researched the medication. I expected her to come back and assure me everything was fine, that Leo’s intestines would just be uber-relaxed all day long.
Instead, she came back on the line with an urgent tone in her voice and said, “You need to get that baby to the hospital right now, mam. What’s his name? I’ll call to let them know you’re on the way.”
The panic began to rise as I threw both kids in the car and sped towards the ER. Thankfully, we live five minutes from the Texas Medical Center, so we were there in no time.
And they were waiting, with a doctor sitting at the computer researching the medication, as I approached the counter.
Oh my God.
We all got into a room, me asking repeatedly what the possible complications could be.
No one would answer me, only saying, “He looks like a peach now, everything is normal, I don’t want to scare you with what Poison Control said.”
Because telling me that isn’t scary at all.
The most they would tell me was that he needed activated charcoal so his body wouldn’t absorb the medication as well.
Then they brought me this and told me to make him drink the entire cup of what looked like tar.
This is after he’d already had a good amount…
Poor, little, pill-popping Leo.
It took over an hour for him to get the whole thing down.
Coughing, gagging, crying, screaming, puking, more coughing….
It was heartbreaking. He kept looking at me with confused why are you doing this to me and where are we eyes.
He finally managed to get it all down, and we were both covered with the gross black carbon.
They wanted to observe him for 4-6 hours, to make sure he didn’t start exhibiting effects from the pill.
Poor kid hadn’t eaten since before his nap, and was going on 5-6 hours with no food.
He cried like I’ve never seen him cry before. Ever.
Towards the end of our stay, the doctor had done more research, and discovered the potential for the medication to be harmful was even less of an issue than they first thought.
And honestly, who the hell knows if he even took the pill. I was going on the word of a not-quite four year old, who waffled back and forth with his answers.
Did he take it, Luca?
OK, well we need to take him to the hospital.
No mommy he didn’t take it he didn’t!
Luca, no one will give you shots or stitches if we take him.
OK, mommy, he did take one.
I knew I couldn’t take a chance, and better safe than heartbreakingly sorry.
The entire time we were in the hospital, I felt like everyone was whispering, “Look at that shitty, irresponsible mom in room four, some people shouldn’t be allowed to have kids.”
This paranoia was amplified by the fact that I had a four year old, wearing a broken pair of Crocs, and fresh stitches on his lip, standing next to me.
As much as I know that accidents happen, no matter how careful we are, I still felt judged. I even considered not sharing this incident online..because AGAIN ONE OF YOUR KIDS GOT HURT MY GOD LADY GET YOUR SHIT TOGETHER.
The scariest part is that both accidents happened within a foot from me. This makes me want to lock my kids up and never let them leave the house.
I’m trying to go easier on myself, because I know I’m a good mom, and shit happens, but I still have that damn judgmental thing nagging and pointing it’s finger at me.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go remove my boys from the bubbles I’ve put them, so we can try this grocery store run again.