My Real Life

So, Labor Day started out like any other holiday.  We slept late…wait, no we didn’t.  The monkeys were up at the crack of dawn, which means so were we.  But that’s okay.  They’re fun monkeys.

We played in the morning, inside and outside.  I cooked up some sausage for two batches of pasta and meat sauce and put it in the freezer.  We did laundry.  You know…the usually puttering stuff you do on Labor Day.

Then I took Monkey Girl for a haircut.  When we got home, we all read some library books together.  We had a date for dinner at my parents at 4:00, so around three, I gave the boy monkeys their bath and Monkey Girl took a shower.  We put on their jammies and were ready to go.  (We figured to do baths and jammies beforehand, so when we got home we could read books and go right to bed, as it was a school night.)

We hopped in the car and started driving.  We hadn’t gone far when Baby Monkey called from the backseat of the van, “Mommy! Daddy!  Look at my head!”  We turned around and his head was perfectly still, but his eyes were rapidly darting back and forth.  Rapidly is an understatement.  His eyes were moving back and forth faster than it is humanly possible to actually move your eyes.  Real Man held out his finger and said, “Look at my finger,” and Baby Monkey grabbed the sides of his head to try to stop his head from moving, which was unsuccessful, since it wasn’t his head that was moving at all.  It was his eyes, but he didn’t seem to understand that. 

I would say the whole thing lasted about 45 seconds.  Finally it stopped and Real Man and I just looked at each other.  It was pretty clear that Baby Monkey had just had some type of seizure.  Real scary.

So, we took the big monkeys to my parents and dropped them off, then took Baby Monkey to the ER.

I hate the ER.  I especially hate the pediatric ER.  There is always an adult crying and I’m always so incredibly sad for them because I know they are hurting because a child is in pain.  There is nothing sadder to see than a sick child, particularly because they are usually being so brave about it.  The pediatric ER breaks your heart, and it takes a really special type of person to work there.

We finally got a room, and we settled in.  The nurse came in and checked him out.  She asked if he had taken his cute pills, because he was the cutest little guy she’d ever seen.  About 5 minutes later, some other woman came in and said that the nurse said she had to come look at the cute guy.  10 minutes after that, someone else came in for the same reason.  So, that made him feel special.  And really…he is ridiculously cute.

The doctor came in and asked a bunch of questions.  She checked him out and said she wanted to consult with another doctor.  Nothing like waiting.  I understand and am glad that she was consulting with someone.  However, not knowing is torture.

Then, the other doctor came in and checked him out.  More consulting.

Long story short, they think that the odds are that he had a seizure.  The other possibility is that he had some type of vertigo episode which would be a result of a childhood migraine (my mother and I are both migraine sufferers), however, he hasn’t complained of any head pain.  So, we have to go see the neurologist this week.  The office opens in a few minutes and I will call then.

I’m home with him today because we need to keep an eye on his eyes for today and it’s easier to do in a one-on-one setting than it would be at daycare.  However, if today is fine, tomorrow he can go back to school. 

He seems to be fine.  He was fine as soon as it was over last night.  He’s just a happy-go-lucky little monkey.  Kids are amazingly resilient.  Much more so than adults.  He never whined, complained or looked at his watch.  He said thank you to the nurses and doctors.  He was disappointed he didn’t get to have spaghetti at his grandparents and didn’t get to play at their house.  But, he rolled with the punches, smiled at everyone and made the best of his situation.

I think we could all learn some important life lessons from our children.