Y is for Yell in the Night

      Is there anything more terrifying than the unknown?  Let me rephrase that.  Is there anything more terrifying than having your child hurt and taking a rapid turn for the worse?  Tonight I think NOT.   One question before I get started, why am I always ALONE when $hit happens?  The answer is because my husband is a truck driver and is on the road.  Let us rewind and reverse and bring you up to speed.   
       
       

       My nightmare started Thursday afternoon with a phone call from the nurse at my son’s school.  It was unexpected.  Things like this usually are.  You can’t prepare yourself.  You simply have to live through it and pray for strength to persevere. My son had taken a nasty fall plummeting to the ground from the top of the tallest slide.  He WHAT??  The nurse relayed that he had been in her office for almost an hour.  She had been applying ice to his head, checked his ear for bleeding, but thought I needed to come immediately.  I gave a primal yell of fear, and with tears in my eyes I raced to the school to find my son lethargic unsure what happened.

        Fear drove me to pick up my daughter from her school and race to the local hospital’s emergency room.  My horror turned to anger as I was faced with a nurse practitioner instead of a physician who told me that I shouldn’t have brought him.  Give him Motrin, ice his head, and go home.  She was rude.  She ordered no tests.  Not knowing what else to do, I took my son home and continued to minister to him myself.  He was dizzy, nauseated, and not himself.  He took a nose dive and tripped over a bean bag chair sending him sprawling face first on the floor.  Once again I rushed for ice.  My poor baby needs to slow down!!

        By the next day, he woke up in pain.  His ear hurt.  His head hurt.  His legs hurt.  He felt sick to his tummy.  Needless to say I kept him home from school.  Progressively he has gotten worse.  I kept giving him Motrin to alleviate the pain.  He almost seemed back to himself.  He fell asleep beside me.  I had to keep my baby close. "Please dear Je$u$ hold and protect my baby!" I beg through my tears.

      In the night he yelled.  I awoke to discover him burning up with fever screaming, crying that his head hurt.  He felt like he was going to throw up. Oh no!! Get the bowl.  “It won’t come out!!” he wailed.  I soothed him with a wet wash rag and gave him more Motrin.  My fear had elevated to a fever pitch.  Panicked I called my doctor at home.  He listened to me pour out my woes.  Give him sips of water and no food.  No problem there, he hasn’t had an appetite since the accident.  I was advised to bring him to his office through the emergency entrance.  The doctor thinks an infection has formed at the site of his injury.  My brain struggled to grasp everything the doctor told me.  He needs antibiotics.  Oh my!!  I calm my baby the best I can and wait.  Finally he sleeps, but I can’t.  Worry drives me on.

         At this dark hour, a poem my Dad insisted on teaching me from little on up comes into my head and it is like him reaching out to me in my darkest hour.

              The night was dark

              The sky was blue

               Around the corner the $hit wagon flew

               There was a scream 

               A yell was heard

                A man got killed by a flying turd.

Somehow those words seem oddly appropriate right now.  Is it odd in the face of my fear I am waxing poetic in the light before the dawn?  The $hit has certainly been flying around here at horrific wind speeds.  Screams and yells were definitely heard and I definitely feel like I have been hit proving I am a few sandwiches short of a picnic and almost ready for the funny farm until next time when I give you another glimpse into the life of a trucker’s wife.