The "G" Word and a Trip to the ER

This post began as something completely different entirely. Midweek, I was in the midst of everything going wonderfully. I mean, it still is, but there was a little rockiness toward the end of the week.

Wednesday night, Kylie and I trekked to Jeff's for pizza and movies. We were happy to let the kids entertain themselves while we killed a bottle of Pinot Grigio. I bought all three of the girls matching friendship bracelets from my store, which they loved. One of the coolest things about this whole scenario is that Jeff and I each genuinely dig the others' daughter(s). We all stayed up late and got up too early, and therefore, we spent most of Thursday morning chugging coffee (us) and playing Wii (them). Kylie and I planned to run errands during the afternoon and return to Jeff's later so we could all go see Winnie the Pooh at the theater.

Around noon, Kylie began complaining of a headache and being tired, which I chalked up to the girls playing too hard. She spread out on the sofa and promptly fell asleep in my lap for the next hour. We headed home a little while later, and she slept through the entire 30-minute drive. Upon arriving home, she passed out in her room for another 3 hours. Her head still hurt, and she wouldn't eat. I gave her juice, and she promptly threw up. Then I realized she had a fever. I started to freak out. It was too late to find an Urgent Care facility or a pediatrician, so it was off to the ER.

My first clue that our night was not going to go as smoothly as I would have liked was that the ER was crammed with scary people and cops. It was only 9 PM, and I knew we were in for a wild night. The receptionist was a complete snot. I sent Kylie to slump over in a nearby chair while I checked her in. The chick could not get our names straight, and she could not figure out which one of us was the patient, which blew my mind. I wondered if we had been looking at the same sick child moments before. Granted, if I had to work in her place, I would probably be cranky, too. There was a guy who sat snoring for hours in a chair by the main entrance. Another guy (who was not a patient) had hijacked a wheelchair and punched numbers on the lobby telephone, randomly yelling at the people on the other end of the line and begging for cab fare from anyone within a 5-foot radius. Then he proceeded to yell at the police officer who was sitting behind the visitor's desk. Needless to say, the officer was not amused. There was also the guy who was yelling at his poor girlfriend for taking the wrong amount of insulin as he played around on his Motorola Razor. I wanted to bitchslap him as much as the receptionist. And speaking of assholes, Rat Bastard's reply to finding out that Kylie was in the ER was, "Ok, keep me informed." Really? That's all you've got? Even Jeff was willing to come up and hang with us had he not still had the girls with him. This is exactly the reason that Rat Bastard earned his nickname.

We sat in the waiting room for almost four hours. Kylie slept, and I hadn't even had the sense to grab a book before we left. My cell phone died before 11 because I had forgotten to charge it the night before. Once we were called back to a room, my munchkin had every test known to man performed on her. She had literally finished the antibiotic for the pneumonia/bronchitis that very morning, and the doctor was concerned that it was not gone. We were sent back for chest x-rays, performed by the coolest guy ever who told Kylie to hold her arms out like she was attempting to fly. Afterward, a nurse came in to draw blood, which I found incredibly painful to watch. Kylie barely even flinched. There was peeing in a cup, or more like peeing in a big helmet-like bowl and then pouring it into a cup. You haven't lived until you have wandered around the hallways of a hospital carrying a helmet of your little girl's pee because you aren't sure of what to do with it. After Kylie managed to throw up the glass of apple juice that she was given, the doctor gave her anti-nausea meds and ordered an IV of fluids. OMG...an IV. At first she was less than thrilled, but her only consolation was that my cell phone had died and I was unable to take her picture while she was hooked up to it. I'll admit that I cried while the nurse put it in, but I didn't let Kylie see. Once again, she was brave while I acted like a blubbering idiot. By this time, it was past midnight. I watched the timer count down on the IV machine and was relieved that it was only an hour. I was so ready to take my peanut home and pass out in our own beds. Imagine my surprise when the timer completed it's cycle and began again...for another two hours. Kylie slept through the entire thing while I stared at the wall. At one point, I determined that I was going to figure out how to use the telephone in the hospital. I punched numbers for twenty minutes before I got it right (punch "9" first, don't dial the area code). I called Jeff because I could not call anyone who was long distance and I had no idea of how to call my parents collect. At one point, I considered asking him to call them for me, and I wondered if that would be weird, considering they haven't yet met. I was so exhausted to the point of being completely crazed that I just needed to talk to someone.

At around 3:30 AM, Kylie was finished with the fluids and was diagnosed with having a UTI. Who would've thunk that a UTI could cause so many problems? We are in for another ten days of antibiotics that taste like hot garbage, and the doctor told her that she can't go back to summer camp for the last week because she needs to rest. That made her sad, and me too, I guess. This means that she will be Rat Bastard's parents for the week, away from me, which blows chunks. But at least she is feeling better, and that's what counts.

And as for the "G" word? Jeff has begun to refer to me as his "girlfriend." Holy moly. I couldn't tell you the last time that happened. The first time he said it, I immediately texted all of my girlfriends because that's clearly BIG stuff. All of the ladies out there know that as much as we want that title, we are not going to be the ones to bring it up first, because you know you will look and feel like an ass when your guy is not on the same wavelength as you are. When I explained that to Jeff, his reply was, "Well, I think it's pretty safe to assume that you are at this point, don't you?"

Gosh, I really lucked out this time, didn't I?