‘Go big or go to the E.R.’

  • Wednesday, April 30, 2014

We all have a thing we need or want when we donít feel well. If my throat hurts, I want orange juice and the spiciest food I can find. My personal theory is each time I swallow a bite of those things itís burning the germs to death as it goes down.

Eric wants to explain every symptom he has, have me tell him what medicine he should take, and then do nothing I have suggested. However, he wants to keep complaining. This has forced me to make an ďif you havenít taken anything you cannot complainĒ amendment to the wife policy.

Dylan wants the couch, TV, and to be left alone. He really doesnít even want you to ask how him how he is feeling.

Autumn wants to obsess over everything. Every sneeze, sniffle, and chill. I am very grateful that she hasnít discovered WebMd, there is only so much pressure my mommy medication skills can take.

Chandler is what youíd expect, she wants you in the bed with her all the time snuggling. While somehow managing to attend to her every beck and call. To say that is stressful, is a vast understatement.

And then there is Denver. Before I even tell you, let me just say, in his defense, he is rarely sick. In fact the last time I had to take him to the doctor, he had not been there in so long that I had to fill out new paperwork. We have had the same doctor since he was born.

All that being said, anytime he doesnít feel well he immediately wants me to take him to the emergency room. No matter the aliment. No matter what time of day. Two months ago, I picked him up early from school because he was sick. As we left school I called the doctorís office, they told me to bring him right in. As I drove the three miles from school to the doctorís office, he was in the back seat screaming ďplease, I am begging you, take me to the E.R. I canít make it to the doctorís office.Ē

Really? You canít make it three miles? You are not bleeding from anywhere. You have no fever and you can walk. The E.R. is not the answer. And, as it turned out, it really wasnít the answer. We saw Jenny and discovered that he had a sinus infection.

Sunday, very very early in the morning, earlier than God may be awake. Denver wakes me up to tell me his throat hurts and can I give him some medicine. Medicine given. An hour later, he wakes me up to tell me the medicine is not helping.

I give him a hug, pray a little prayer and go back to sleep. Another hour passes, he leans on my bed, causing me to roll slightly towards him so we are practically nose to nose. My eyes fly open, I practically inhale my tongue, and he says ďWhatís wrong with you?Ē

Whatís wrong with me? You keep waking me up! This time he has woken me up to tell me that nothing is working and that his throat is never getting better. He wants me to drive him to the E.R. After being woken up like that, Iím the one that needed the E.R.

I listed all the usual reasons why the E.R wasnít a good idea. No blood, no broken bones, and just for good measure as well as sleeping reasons, I threw in chocolate chip pancakes for breakfast. In the morning however, the begging and pleading for the E.R continued. He added writhing around on the floor to the plea, as well as throwing himself down and screaming. I had already made a doctors appointment, but I guess that wasnít fast enough for him. At his appointment, which he did live to see, she said he did have a double ear infection. Which, I will admit, is really painful.

Itís not that I donít believe he is sick, itís that he goes from completely fine to thinking he needs a blood transfusionin in five seconds. Denverís life motto, whether he knows it or not, is ďGo big or go to the E.R.Ē I fear this motto will only become more applicable as he gets older and continues his love affair with power tools. If thatís the case, he and I will be needing a double bed in the E.R.

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