gyroscope2000

Within reason, if you want to find a member of our family this weekend, it’s safe to say that you might call a local hospital. It started Wednesday evening with a telephone call from my sister-in-law who told us that her daughter had had an automobile accident and was in the hospital with injuries. Yesterday morning my father-in-law called to tell us that my husband’s nephew was in hospital, and we were still finding out what was happening with that situation when I had to call paramedics for our youngest granddaughter Marissa because she woke up screaming, and her breathing was ragged and labored. I am usually the calm and collected one when things happen, and yesterday was an exception because I freaked out seeing my granddaughter in such a state. I have been taking medical transcription, which by no means gives a person any medical skills, it is merely meant to give a comprehensive understanding of medical language and diseases…I was less than adequately equipped to deal with a baby whose fever was rising, and had become lethargic. If it had taken 5-minutes longer for the ambulance to arrive, the paramedics would have found a baby in distress and a grandmother in the full throws of a heart attack.

Once the paramedics arrived, I was relieved and the stress of not knowing was replaced with the knowledge that these guys knew what to do…so there was no heart attack. They kept commenting on what a good baby she was being, and as her grandmother I assured them she was a good baby, but the same baby had thrown a fit last month when her fever shot up and she had to have blood drawn, so her demeanor worried me considerably. As a rule, both my granddaughters are pleasant and well behaved, as is their brother, but there rarely lethargic. Alyssa, who is 2-years-old and a handful some days, could take out a concrete wall with her head and it would not faze her. She’s is as tough as her brother and at times, the one that is not crying when they butt heads or have a run-in, so there are the times when I think she has half-killed herself and she’s really alright. The baby, as most moms will tell you about their children under the age of 1-year, is a whole other kettle of fish.

Babies, short of dribble-babble, have no way to tell you where it hurts, why it hurts, or how it got hurt, everything with them is a guessing game until their fever spikes and then it’s time to let the professional do the guess work. Wendy, the baby’s mother and my youngest child, arrived in time to be told that they could take her to hospital or…no, there’s no “or” here, take her to the hospital. Both my daughter and I have been watching this thing work it’s devil on her for over two weeks, with congestion, coughing, and a runny nose, and there was no “or” in the choice to take her to the hospital. The baby has been to the doctor twice in the last week and a half, so “yea, take her to the hospital.” Where the true devil lifted it’s ugly head in less than three hours with the discovery that she had pneumonia. Finally, an answer to what was wrong.

Next Friday, unless the civil defense horns go off, or there is a state of war called, I’m not answering my phone. If there is a knock at the door, I will automatically assume it is the census bureau, or an evangelist with a $0.10 pamphlet that will not go away until I buy the pamphlet, and will not answer the door. In fact, next week I may have two Thursday and go straight to Saturday.

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