The Monkey is okay.
Before the cut, before anything else, I have to say this part: she's okay. This story, thank God, has a happy ending. And believe me, I know how lucky we are that it does, because it could have gone very, very differently. So I'm going to start from the beginning, because I think I need to get this out of my brain, because while she's okay... I'm still working on it.
This is Monkey, taken yesterday. She really, really is okay. So all right. Going now.
Every weekend (or almost), my parents take one of my kids home with them, alternating which kid gets to go to 'Gramma and Papa's house'. This weekend, it was Frog's turn, but since my mom was going to go on holidays and visit my sister for a couple of weeks, we agreed that we'd come out Sunday afternoon, spend some time, have dinner, go back home before the kids turn into pumpkins.
My parents have property on the lakeshore, literally 30 feet from the water, and a good forty-five minute drive out of town. I grew up out there, and it had its pluses, and its minuses. The distance from town? Big minus.
We were eating dinner on the screened in porch, and the babies were getting pretty fussy. Frog was already parked over with with my mom, and Monkey was still in the high chair, and really pissed off about it. See, the porch is being renovated. The screens were all replaced, but the security fencing that used to be on the inside of the porch was removed for painting, and hadn't been put up yet. The aliens were the youngest kids around, and everyone else knew not to touch the screens, or even go close to them without the guard fencing up. The rule was that if they were out on the porch, they were in a high chair, or in someone's lap. Those were the only conditions that they were allowed on the porch.
It looks like this, from the side:
It happened so, so fast. Frog was with my mom, and Monkey wanted down. I don't remember exactly how part of it happened... I don't remember what the transition was going to be, but she wasn't staying down on her own--she was going to go up onto my dad's lap. But she got taken out of the high chair, and for about two seconds, she was free on her own, with no quite close enough to grab her. And that's all it took.
I heard someone say "Monkey, don't go near the screen!"
And she did. She pressed her hand against it. She leaned against it. And she fell.
If you look at the picture above, where she fell was directly above the right panel of the window on the lower part of the house. It's easily an eight foot fall--more likely ten feet.
I screamed. I know I screamed, but the Academic Husband says that's the part he can't get out of his head--hearing me scream. I can't stop seeing her touch the screen, lean against it, and fall, with no one close enough to grab her and stop it from happening.
She fell. I screamed. The AH and I ran, through the house, around the side, down the set of stone steps that run down the side of the house to where she was. My dad was already there. He jumped from the porch, jumped after her. He couldn't wait to get around the side, couldn't look at her lying there on the ground any longer than he already had... and it had been seconds. He had her up in his arms before we even got to her, holding on tightly while she screamed her head off.
So okay--pausing for a moment here. Standard first aid, I know, is don't move the patient. But we were forty-five minutes out of town. Realistically, we were a good hour--maybe--away from the nearest first responder being able to get out to us, and then after they get here, they have to get back to town and to the hospital. That's nearly two hours, and we have absolutely no idea what's wrong with her. No idea if she has internal injuries. Pretty fucking sure she's going to be heading right down the rabbit hole into shock. We had to decide immediately whether to risk moving her, or whether to haul ass for the hospital as fast as we possibly can.
We decided to rush her to the hospital. At first, my dad was holding her, and I was driving. I know the road better than the AH, and since my dad was afraid to put her down or move her, I was the best choice, whether he wanted me to be driving or not. And I go into Stage Manager/Mom mode--it's what I trained for (the stage manager part. The mom gets installed when they do your epidural... or possibly later, if you don't get one of those. Either way--at some point when you're not looking and distracted). I was completely focused on the task of 'get the fuck to town'. My dad could only take it so long, and he had me pull over, and I took Monkey, settled in the front seat, and we hauled it again.
Pausing again. She should have been in a car seat. I know this too. But she was in pain, but we couldn't tell from where. We were worried about the belts pressing against injuries we couldn't see, and even though it wasn't safer, it felt like it was helping her to be right against a heartbeat. It might not have been the smart choice, but it felt like the right one.
Did I mention that my dad drives for a living? He's a professional truck driver--he has been for decades. And when he wants to? He can drive like Andretti. She fell at about 6:20, give or take, and we weren't moving until almost 6:30. We arrived at the hospital at 7:00. So, yeah. We were going motherfucking fast.
He pulled in, I got out and ran for the front desk, and almost kissed the triage nurse because it was someone I've known for years. I got one sentence out--eight foot fall out at my parent's place (she knows where they live)--and she just hit the button for the doors, and we went straight to the trauma room.
The whole ride in, she'd been quiet. Too quiet. Freaking me out a hell of a lot quiet. We'd kept talking to her, singing to her, trying to keep her eyes open and her focus on us. She mimics everything... she finishes sentences. If you read the first part of a book, or sing the first line of 'Twinkle Twinkle little star' she gives you the rest. She was saying nothing. A few whimpers, nothing else. So, by the time I got to the hospital, she had us pretty freaked, even though she'd never lost consciousness.
I got her lying on the bed, and she kept trying to curl up and go fetal. That's also about the time that the being quiet stopped, and it didn't start again for a really, really, really long time. She cried. She screamed. She sobbed. She clutched at me, she called for her daddy, for her papa, for gramma, for everyone.
I answered questions. I answered them again. We tried not to hit the guy who kept asking for her insurance card, and tried to tell my dad (even though they were already working on her) that they wouldn't do anything for her until they had her medical card. Um, dude? We're in Canada. Sit down and spin, 'cause that ain't how it works. You'll get the card, give us a second, okay? *find card, shove at nurse, do not hit the nurse who is just doing his job and needs to be taught some people skills about dealing with families who have a two year old who just fell a hell of a fucking long way*
The first thing that we notice is that there's almost no marks on her. A few scrapes. A bruise or two. No cuts. No blood anywhere at all, actually. She's soaked all over with sweat, and her hair looks like we dunked her in water, but there's nothing we can see apart from the few scrapes and a bruise or two.
They need blood tests. They need an IV. The AH arrives about this time, and they send him straight back without waiting. She's still crying hysterically. I don't know if it's shock, if it's pain, if it's fear, if it's all of them. We just keep talking to her, trying to distract her from what the nurses and doctor are doing.
It took them three sticks and a lot of manipulation to get an IV in. That's the other time when I almost lost my patience, big time. It wasn't that they were screwing around--I know that they were trying to get the IV set as fast as possible. But they kept talking about it while they were doing it, discussing what they were trying, problem solving, all of it out loud. And I wanted to scream. I wanted to tell them that she's two, not two months, and she can hear you. She can't understand everything, but she can understand enough to know what you're doing. You're scaring her. You're scaring her, and you're hurting her, and I know that you're doing your job, and it's to help her, but I swear to God, if you can't get it after three sticks, I am going to (politely) push you out of the way and tell you to go find a nurse who can.
I didn't say that. I didn't do that. And they did get it, about the third try, after a lot of manipulation. I just kept talking to her, trying to calm her down. Nothing doing. Not a chance. She's pretty much hysterical and staying that way.
It doesn't help that the lab tech who comes to draw blood, now that the IV is in, doesn't have much better luck. Four sticks. FOUR. And just as much conversation. I think I bit my tongue bloody. I just want them to help her, get it taken care of, but I know it's hurting her, and I'm holding her down for it. I know it's the right thing to do, the only thing to do, and I'm calm on the surface... calm and soothing and looking relaxed. Inside, all I want to do is scream, or run, or hit someone.
The only part that was almost funny was when they finally got the IV in. They finally got it, finally got it in, got it working, were convinced that it was a good one and they wouldn't have to do it again. And they said 'okay, all done'. And this tiny little weak voice, all exhausted, all teary, said 'hooray'. None of us were sure whether to laugh first, or cry first. I think we did a little bit of both.
They really, really don't fuck around when something like this happens, even in a small city/large town where I live. It's Sunday night, and the on-call guys are getting paged in. There's a radiologist on the way, and the pediatrician is coming in too. The priority for them is to check out her head and neck, and then do a full-body CT scan. They're gonna check absolutely everything they can check.
The catch is that she's two. You can't tell a two year old to hold still for the CT. You can't even strap them down--it's still too much movement. You need to drug them. And if you are going to drug them, and you don't want to have to intubate them, do you know what they give them?
Ketamine. That's right. My 26 month old baby girl is gonna be rocking the Special K. And it makes sense--it immobilizes her, but she's not unconscious. She can still breathe without needing support (and there's a respirologist standing by, watching her readings and making sure it's all right). But fuck. FUCK. Watching her when the drugs kick in, watching everything stop, trying to push every episode of Criminal Minds I've ever seen out of my head... it was really, really, really hard.
They let me go with her to get the CT scan. My dad had the Frog with him--he'd taken him from the AH--and he wanted an update, so the AH went to tell him what was going on, what they were doing. I went with the Monkey. They let me put on a lead vest and stay right in the room, even if I had to stand back. And I just stood there, the vest just about choking me, and I watched. I listened--she was immobile, but she wasn't unconscious. She was trying to cry, and she couldn't. And I stood there and watched the machine work. I tried to pray, but I couldn't get much out besides please. Please, please, please.
The radiologist was there. He was in golf clothes--I'm pretty sure I pulled him off the course. I'm kind of sorry that I wasn't sorry, even a little. He watched the whole scan as it was happening, came into the room a couple of times to readjust her. They finished with the head and neck CT, and the doctor came into the room.
"Mom? Everything looks good so far."
Everything looks good so far. No cracks, no breaks, no damage to the skull or brain. No bleeding. Not even any signs of a concussion. No issues with the neck. The radiologist is going to take a closer look when they're all done, but preliminary head and neck look good.
I just nodded. I couldn't speak. I couldn't believe it, to be honest. I know how far she fell. I didn't know how she landed, or what she landed on, but I know how hard that ground is. I just... it wouldn't sink in. I kept waiting for the hammer to drop.
The radiologist came in and injected something into her IV. The nurse came by, and he murmured to me that it was contrast dye. That if there were any issues with her organs, any damage or bleeding, it'd help it show up.
So I kept standing there, keeping the vest away from my neck. I kept thinking 'please, please, please', over and over again. It felt like it took forever. Soft sounds coming from the table, the machine moving on its own.
They shut it all down, told me I could take my vest off. Again, he wanted to do a closer check, but the radiologist came out and told me there was nothing. No injuries. No breaks. No bleeding. No organ damage. Nothing to the extremities. Nothing anywhere. They scanned her head to toe, and from what they could tell, she had scrapes and bruises, and nothing else.
I didn't faint. I kind of wanted to, but I didn't. And they were letting me go back to her again, so I did, and I wasn't focusing on me and wanting to faint any more.
We went back to the ER, took all of the restraints they'd had on her (C-collar, things to keep her from moving her head and neck around) off, turned out the lights, and waited for her to come out of her Ketamine haze. I went out to brief my dad and the AH, and to give the Frog a too-tight hug.
He'd heard her crying, before. He knew it was her... kept telling my dad it was the Monkey. And he looked up at my dad, and my dad swears that he said "I love Monkey". My dad damned near cried.
My dad took the AH and the Frog home... promised to bring me back a bag. We knew that she was at least in for the night, but we were waiting for the pediatrician to examine her before they made that decision for certain.
I don't know what it's like coming up from Ketamine when you take it on purpose, but she was kind of a mess. She was laughing and crying, scared and happy, wanting me close, touching my hand, asking for people she hadn't seen in months. It was scary, but the nurse kept telling me what was normal.
The pediatrician who showed up was their pediatrician. He was there when they were born. He was the one who gave the Monkey the extra help she needed to clear her lungs right after birth. He's seen them through speech delays, and Frog through his possible asthma. He was the second person to touch both of them, even before I got to. And the first thing he did was give me a hug, and say that he wanted to see me for the next time in the grocery store, not in here!
He was the first person that she didn't holler at when they tried to examine her. She just looked at him, whimpered a little, but let him do what he needed to do, so long as I held her in my lap. He just kept shaking his head and saying 'she's fine. She's absolutely fine. I don't know how she's fine, but she's fine'. We decided together that her scrapes were likely from the cedar siding on the house. She literally slid down the side of the house on her way down. It probably slowed her down, helped break her fall. It probably saved her.
He confirmed that everything was fine, and the only thing they were looking at was her liver, because her enzymes were elevated. His guess was that her arm was against her side when she fell, and she banged against it, and ticked it off. Not injured it, not damaged it, but gave it a good jolt. He wanted to keep her for that reason, and just in case of concussion, and I was more than fine with that.
He took some time to talk to my dad, who was still there, still looking sick with guilt. I don't think that's going to go away any time soon. He told him that it's an accident. Even if there were things that could have prevented it, it's still an accident. We celebrate the fact that she's okay, and we fix what was wrong, and we move forward. I'm so glad he told my dad that. So glad that he said it.
We were in the ER for a couple of hours after that, waiting for them to have time to move us to a bed in the Peds/Maternity ward. We met a few more nurses (you may have noticed that most of the nurses I'm talking about were men. My hospital's ER has a really high population of male nurses. LPNs, full RNs, short guys, older guys, really young and tall guys... they're all over the place at my hospital. (It's off topic, but my Nana, when she was in there, once commented on the overall HOTNESS of the male nurses in our hospital. I still think that's funny).
There was another nurse there who totally won me over, and not just 'cause he was cute as a button (for a six foot two guy). We had a problem with Monkey's IV, before we went up, and he had to fix it. And unlike the others, who'd just held her down and done what they needed to do, he sat down and talked to her. He told her he had to fix her IV, and he'd have to take the tape off and mess with it, but he promised he wouldn't be poking her again, and apologized for having to do it. And I know she didn't get all of it, but she got the tone, and she listened to him, and although she cried a little, she didn't try and pull away, and she let him do what he needed to do. I wish I'd thanked him. I wish I'd had the brain to thank him. I was so grateful for that.
It was past midnight before the porter came to take us to the peds wing. Nearly two before we'd filled out all the paperwork up there and were able to curl up and turn out the lights. I tried to put her in the crib at first. Not happening. No freaking way. She started out with me, in the bed, for a good hour or so, before I moved her into the crib again. They checked on her every four hours, just in case she did have a concussion.
We were there until mid-morning, when the pediatrician came to check her again. Again, she was fine with him, flirting with the med student he brought with him, all sunny smiles and letting him do whatever he wanted. We got a requisition for blood tests to check everything over in a day or two, and we left the hospital before noon.
We got to take her home. What could have so easily been the worst day of all of our lives has a happy ending. A huge scare, a horrible day... but a happy ending.
Thank you, so much, to everyone who we were able to contact about her when she was still in the hospital, all of you who were thinking of her. Thank you for everyone in the medical profession, even the couldn't-get-an-IV nurses, because even though they were struggling, they were trying to hard for her. Thank you to the doctors who left their families on a Sunday night to come and make sure that my family was all right. Thank you for my dad for being able to handle a Honda Civic on a rural road going 130 kilometres an hour.
Picture taken yesterday, not even 24 hours after the accident.
Thank you, so much. Because my Monkey's okay.
Posted via m.livejournal.com.
This is Monkey, taken yesterday. She really, really is okay. So all right. Going now.
Every weekend (or almost), my parents take one of my kids home with them, alternating which kid gets to go to 'Gramma and Papa's house'. This weekend, it was Frog's turn, but since my mom was going to go on holidays and visit my sister for a couple of weeks, we agreed that we'd come out Sunday afternoon, spend some time, have dinner, go back home before the kids turn into pumpkins.
My parents have property on the lakeshore, literally 30 feet from the water, and a good forty-five minute drive out of town. I grew up out there, and it had its pluses, and its minuses. The distance from town? Big minus.
We were eating dinner on the screened in porch, and the babies were getting pretty fussy. Frog was already parked over with with my mom, and Monkey was still in the high chair, and really pissed off about it. See, the porch is being renovated. The screens were all replaced, but the security fencing that used to be on the inside of the porch was removed for painting, and hadn't been put up yet. The aliens were the youngest kids around, and everyone else knew not to touch the screens, or even go close to them without the guard fencing up. The rule was that if they were out on the porch, they were in a high chair, or in someone's lap. Those were the only conditions that they were allowed on the porch.
It looks like this, from the side:
It happened so, so fast. Frog was with my mom, and Monkey wanted down. I don't remember exactly how part of it happened... I don't remember what the transition was going to be, but she wasn't staying down on her own--she was going to go up onto my dad's lap. But she got taken out of the high chair, and for about two seconds, she was free on her own, with no quite close enough to grab her. And that's all it took.
I heard someone say "Monkey, don't go near the screen!"
And she did. She pressed her hand against it. She leaned against it. And she fell.
If you look at the picture above, where she fell was directly above the right panel of the window on the lower part of the house. It's easily an eight foot fall--more likely ten feet.
I screamed. I know I screamed, but the Academic Husband says that's the part he can't get out of his head--hearing me scream. I can't stop seeing her touch the screen, lean against it, and fall, with no one close enough to grab her and stop it from happening.
She fell. I screamed. The AH and I ran, through the house, around the side, down the set of stone steps that run down the side of the house to where she was. My dad was already there. He jumped from the porch, jumped after her. He couldn't wait to get around the side, couldn't look at her lying there on the ground any longer than he already had... and it had been seconds. He had her up in his arms before we even got to her, holding on tightly while she screamed her head off.
So okay--pausing for a moment here. Standard first aid, I know, is don't move the patient. But we were forty-five minutes out of town. Realistically, we were a good hour--maybe--away from the nearest first responder being able to get out to us, and then after they get here, they have to get back to town and to the hospital. That's nearly two hours, and we have absolutely no idea what's wrong with her. No idea if she has internal injuries. Pretty fucking sure she's going to be heading right down the rabbit hole into shock. We had to decide immediately whether to risk moving her, or whether to haul ass for the hospital as fast as we possibly can.
We decided to rush her to the hospital. At first, my dad was holding her, and I was driving. I know the road better than the AH, and since my dad was afraid to put her down or move her, I was the best choice, whether he wanted me to be driving or not. And I go into Stage Manager/Mom mode--it's what I trained for (the stage manager part. The mom gets installed when they do your epidural... or possibly later, if you don't get one of those. Either way--at some point when you're not looking and distracted). I was completely focused on the task of 'get the fuck to town'. My dad could only take it so long, and he had me pull over, and I took Monkey, settled in the front seat, and we hauled it again.
Pausing again. She should have been in a car seat. I know this too. But she was in pain, but we couldn't tell from where. We were worried about the belts pressing against injuries we couldn't see, and even though it wasn't safer, it felt like it was helping her to be right against a heartbeat. It might not have been the smart choice, but it felt like the right one.
Did I mention that my dad drives for a living? He's a professional truck driver--he has been for decades. And when he wants to? He can drive like Andretti. She fell at about 6:20, give or take, and we weren't moving until almost 6:30. We arrived at the hospital at 7:00. So, yeah. We were going motherfucking fast.
He pulled in, I got out and ran for the front desk, and almost kissed the triage nurse because it was someone I've known for years. I got one sentence out--eight foot fall out at my parent's place (she knows where they live)--and she just hit the button for the doors, and we went straight to the trauma room.
The whole ride in, she'd been quiet. Too quiet. Freaking me out a hell of a lot quiet. We'd kept talking to her, singing to her, trying to keep her eyes open and her focus on us. She mimics everything... she finishes sentences. If you read the first part of a book, or sing the first line of 'Twinkle Twinkle little star' she gives you the rest. She was saying nothing. A few whimpers, nothing else. So, by the time I got to the hospital, she had us pretty freaked, even though she'd never lost consciousness.
I got her lying on the bed, and she kept trying to curl up and go fetal. That's also about the time that the being quiet stopped, and it didn't start again for a really, really, really long time. She cried. She screamed. She sobbed. She clutched at me, she called for her daddy, for her papa, for gramma, for everyone.
I answered questions. I answered them again. We tried not to hit the guy who kept asking for her insurance card, and tried to tell my dad (even though they were already working on her) that they wouldn't do anything for her until they had her medical card. Um, dude? We're in Canada. Sit down and spin, 'cause that ain't how it works. You'll get the card, give us a second, okay? *find card, shove at nurse, do not hit the nurse who is just doing his job and needs to be taught some people skills about dealing with families who have a two year old who just fell a hell of a fucking long way*
The first thing that we notice is that there's almost no marks on her. A few scrapes. A bruise or two. No cuts. No blood anywhere at all, actually. She's soaked all over with sweat, and her hair looks like we dunked her in water, but there's nothing we can see apart from the few scrapes and a bruise or two.
They need blood tests. They need an IV. The AH arrives about this time, and they send him straight back without waiting. She's still crying hysterically. I don't know if it's shock, if it's pain, if it's fear, if it's all of them. We just keep talking to her, trying to distract her from what the nurses and doctor are doing.
It took them three sticks and a lot of manipulation to get an IV in. That's the other time when I almost lost my patience, big time. It wasn't that they were screwing around--I know that they were trying to get the IV set as fast as possible. But they kept talking about it while they were doing it, discussing what they were trying, problem solving, all of it out loud. And I wanted to scream. I wanted to tell them that she's two, not two months, and she can hear you. She can't understand everything, but she can understand enough to know what you're doing. You're scaring her. You're scaring her, and you're hurting her, and I know that you're doing your job, and it's to help her, but I swear to God, if you can't get it after three sticks, I am going to (politely) push you out of the way and tell you to go find a nurse who can.
I didn't say that. I didn't do that. And they did get it, about the third try, after a lot of manipulation. I just kept talking to her, trying to calm her down. Nothing doing. Not a chance. She's pretty much hysterical and staying that way.
It doesn't help that the lab tech who comes to draw blood, now that the IV is in, doesn't have much better luck. Four sticks. FOUR. And just as much conversation. I think I bit my tongue bloody. I just want them to help her, get it taken care of, but I know it's hurting her, and I'm holding her down for it. I know it's the right thing to do, the only thing to do, and I'm calm on the surface... calm and soothing and looking relaxed. Inside, all I want to do is scream, or run, or hit someone.
The only part that was almost funny was when they finally got the IV in. They finally got it, finally got it in, got it working, were convinced that it was a good one and they wouldn't have to do it again. And they said 'okay, all done'. And this tiny little weak voice, all exhausted, all teary, said 'hooray'. None of us were sure whether to laugh first, or cry first. I think we did a little bit of both.
They really, really don't fuck around when something like this happens, even in a small city/large town where I live. It's Sunday night, and the on-call guys are getting paged in. There's a radiologist on the way, and the pediatrician is coming in too. The priority for them is to check out her head and neck, and then do a full-body CT scan. They're gonna check absolutely everything they can check.
The catch is that she's two. You can't tell a two year old to hold still for the CT. You can't even strap them down--it's still too much movement. You need to drug them. And if you are going to drug them, and you don't want to have to intubate them, do you know what they give them?
Ketamine. That's right. My 26 month old baby girl is gonna be rocking the Special K. And it makes sense--it immobilizes her, but she's not unconscious. She can still breathe without needing support (and there's a respirologist standing by, watching her readings and making sure it's all right). But fuck. FUCK. Watching her when the drugs kick in, watching everything stop, trying to push every episode of Criminal Minds I've ever seen out of my head... it was really, really, really hard.
They let me go with her to get the CT scan. My dad had the Frog with him--he'd taken him from the AH--and he wanted an update, so the AH went to tell him what was going on, what they were doing. I went with the Monkey. They let me put on a lead vest and stay right in the room, even if I had to stand back. And I just stood there, the vest just about choking me, and I watched. I listened--she was immobile, but she wasn't unconscious. She was trying to cry, and she couldn't. And I stood there and watched the machine work. I tried to pray, but I couldn't get much out besides please. Please, please, please.
The radiologist was there. He was in golf clothes--I'm pretty sure I pulled him off the course. I'm kind of sorry that I wasn't sorry, even a little. He watched the whole scan as it was happening, came into the room a couple of times to readjust her. They finished with the head and neck CT, and the doctor came into the room.
"Mom? Everything looks good so far."
Everything looks good so far. No cracks, no breaks, no damage to the skull or brain. No bleeding. Not even any signs of a concussion. No issues with the neck. The radiologist is going to take a closer look when they're all done, but preliminary head and neck look good.
I just nodded. I couldn't speak. I couldn't believe it, to be honest. I know how far she fell. I didn't know how she landed, or what she landed on, but I know how hard that ground is. I just... it wouldn't sink in. I kept waiting for the hammer to drop.
The radiologist came in and injected something into her IV. The nurse came by, and he murmured to me that it was contrast dye. That if there were any issues with her organs, any damage or bleeding, it'd help it show up.
So I kept standing there, keeping the vest away from my neck. I kept thinking 'please, please, please', over and over again. It felt like it took forever. Soft sounds coming from the table, the machine moving on its own.
They shut it all down, told me I could take my vest off. Again, he wanted to do a closer check, but the radiologist came out and told me there was nothing. No injuries. No breaks. No bleeding. No organ damage. Nothing to the extremities. Nothing anywhere. They scanned her head to toe, and from what they could tell, she had scrapes and bruises, and nothing else.
I didn't faint. I kind of wanted to, but I didn't. And they were letting me go back to her again, so I did, and I wasn't focusing on me and wanting to faint any more.
We went back to the ER, took all of the restraints they'd had on her (C-collar, things to keep her from moving her head and neck around) off, turned out the lights, and waited for her to come out of her Ketamine haze. I went out to brief my dad and the AH, and to give the Frog a too-tight hug.
He'd heard her crying, before. He knew it was her... kept telling my dad it was the Monkey. And he looked up at my dad, and my dad swears that he said "I love Monkey". My dad damned near cried.
My dad took the AH and the Frog home... promised to bring me back a bag. We knew that she was at least in for the night, but we were waiting for the pediatrician to examine her before they made that decision for certain.
I don't know what it's like coming up from Ketamine when you take it on purpose, but she was kind of a mess. She was laughing and crying, scared and happy, wanting me close, touching my hand, asking for people she hadn't seen in months. It was scary, but the nurse kept telling me what was normal.
The pediatrician who showed up was their pediatrician. He was there when they were born. He was the one who gave the Monkey the extra help she needed to clear her lungs right after birth. He's seen them through speech delays, and Frog through his possible asthma. He was the second person to touch both of them, even before I got to. And the first thing he did was give me a hug, and say that he wanted to see me for the next time in the grocery store, not in here!
He was the first person that she didn't holler at when they tried to examine her. She just looked at him, whimpered a little, but let him do what he needed to do, so long as I held her in my lap. He just kept shaking his head and saying 'she's fine. She's absolutely fine. I don't know how she's fine, but she's fine'. We decided together that her scrapes were likely from the cedar siding on the house. She literally slid down the side of the house on her way down. It probably slowed her down, helped break her fall. It probably saved her.
He confirmed that everything was fine, and the only thing they were looking at was her liver, because her enzymes were elevated. His guess was that her arm was against her side when she fell, and she banged against it, and ticked it off. Not injured it, not damaged it, but gave it a good jolt. He wanted to keep her for that reason, and just in case of concussion, and I was more than fine with that.
He took some time to talk to my dad, who was still there, still looking sick with guilt. I don't think that's going to go away any time soon. He told him that it's an accident. Even if there were things that could have prevented it, it's still an accident. We celebrate the fact that she's okay, and we fix what was wrong, and we move forward. I'm so glad he told my dad that. So glad that he said it.
We were in the ER for a couple of hours after that, waiting for them to have time to move us to a bed in the Peds/Maternity ward. We met a few more nurses (you may have noticed that most of the nurses I'm talking about were men. My hospital's ER has a really high population of male nurses. LPNs, full RNs, short guys, older guys, really young and tall guys... they're all over the place at my hospital. (It's off topic, but my Nana, when she was in there, once commented on the overall HOTNESS of the male nurses in our hospital. I still think that's funny).
There was another nurse there who totally won me over, and not just 'cause he was cute as a button (for a six foot two guy). We had a problem with Monkey's IV, before we went up, and he had to fix it. And unlike the others, who'd just held her down and done what they needed to do, he sat down and talked to her. He told her he had to fix her IV, and he'd have to take the tape off and mess with it, but he promised he wouldn't be poking her again, and apologized for having to do it. And I know she didn't get all of it, but she got the tone, and she listened to him, and although she cried a little, she didn't try and pull away, and she let him do what he needed to do. I wish I'd thanked him. I wish I'd had the brain to thank him. I was so grateful for that.
It was past midnight before the porter came to take us to the peds wing. Nearly two before we'd filled out all the paperwork up there and were able to curl up and turn out the lights. I tried to put her in the crib at first. Not happening. No freaking way. She started out with me, in the bed, for a good hour or so, before I moved her into the crib again. They checked on her every four hours, just in case she did have a concussion.
We were there until mid-morning, when the pediatrician came to check her again. Again, she was fine with him, flirting with the med student he brought with him, all sunny smiles and letting him do whatever he wanted. We got a requisition for blood tests to check everything over in a day or two, and we left the hospital before noon.
We got to take her home. What could have so easily been the worst day of all of our lives has a happy ending. A huge scare, a horrible day... but a happy ending.
Thank you, so much, to everyone who we were able to contact about her when she was still in the hospital, all of you who were thinking of her. Thank you for everyone in the medical profession, even the couldn't-get-an-IV nurses, because even though they were struggling, they were trying to hard for her. Thank you to the doctors who left their families on a Sunday night to come and make sure that my family was all right. Thank you for my dad for being able to handle a Honda Civic on a rural road going 130 kilometres an hour.
Picture taken yesterday, not even 24 hours after the accident.
Thank you, so much. Because my Monkey's okay.
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