MONDAY - THURSDAY, September 1st - 4th
George has Monday off because of Merdeka. We spend the day doing some more shopping and we have a great time. But that's about it.
Well, it never is about it with me, right? Yeah, not this time either. So picture this scene:
A woman (you can go ahead and picture me for the sake of the story) arrives at the door of a pediatrician's clinic. Her brow is shiny and dripping and she's visibly flustered as she wrestles a stroller up some steps and through the door. She approaches the counter, panting, her voice is hurried and breathless and there is a determined clarity in her wide eyes. The small boy in her stroller, who has a swollen lip and a little blood on his shirt, is chirping away happily and waving at the fish in the aquarium as his mother asks to see the doctor.
The doctor is about as concerned about the boy as he appears to be about himself, but she tries to comfort the mother who's alarm seems a little excessive. She asks the usual questions and seems content with the answers though the mother does not. Nothing to worry about. Little Boy had a minor fall, bit his lip, and Mother is a paranoid freak.
Now wait a minute! Let's go back about an hour.
Regin is playing around my chair as I'm doing something on the computer. He backs away from my desk and then, boom! He starts crying. I'm not alarmed, I hear this and deal with this at least 10 times a day, but when I turn around and bend down to pick him up off the floor this time, I see a bunch of blood below me. It's on the floor, and coming from his mouth. MY GOODNESS! I mean this is a LOT of blood we're talking about. He's absolutely wailing, and I am completely failing at the whole calm-mother schtick. I'm shaking as I try to figure out what to do. Is this the moment we've been fearing? The one where I have to rush Regin to the hospital even though I have no car? No, probably not. I try to calm myself. Think about it. It's just some blood, it's just a little fall, his own doctor is more than likely sufficient. But that doesn't change the fact that I am absolutely trembling as I look for Dr. Goh's number. The blood is everywhere by now. It's all over the place in my office, it's all over Regin's shirt and mine, as well as my hands. I'm telling you! I think this may be the most blood I've ever seen! (I think it's more blood than my fall down the stairs several years ago, and I got to ride in the ambulance for that one!) I try to do my best to quickly mop up the blood so Shanti doesn't freak out when she arrives, and then I run out.
I'm walking quickly as I push the stroller by the security hut. No time to talk to Rada today, though she's shouting questions behind me! We hurry to the intersection of Jalan Birch/Jones and Kelawi and as usual it's a steady stream of cars, motorbikes, trucks, you name it, absolutely flying past me. Waiting makes me more anxious. It's so hot out and it's lunch time. I haven't eaten, I'm already in a mild hypoglycemic crash, and the heat doesn't help. It hasn't happened yet, but I'm always afraid of the first time that I have Regin out and I faint from hypoglycemia. I can imagine some pretty awful things resulting from that. And Regin, who is still upset, though not wailing, also hasn't eaten. I'm trying to give him water and crackers, but the poor fellow has really hurt his lip! Who wants to eat with that? And how much blood has he lost? Should I worry about the heat with him?
When I finally see my opportunity to cross, I sprint. I'm almost pushing my luck with the small break in traffic, so it's a real dash. I'm already running at this point, so I just continue. It's not that far, and if I'm going to faint, or if Regin is going to faint, I want it to be in a doctor's office, or right in front of it, when it happens. I run most of the way to the clinic, and I slow down just before I reach the steps. I'm less worried now, I can recuperate with my almonds and water and Regin seems to be calm. But now I'm out of breath, sweating, and panting from the run. I look down at Regin and his big lip. Man I wish I'd changed his shirt! What they must think of me to let him walk around with blood on his shirt!
Grr! Why is it the doctor hears me when I say, yes there was a little blood from his nose, and she still isn't worried? Ok, so FINE, there was a tiny scratch inside the nose. But I can't stand how she doesn't seem to take anything seriously! I know he's probably fine and this is what she keeps telling me. It's not the "probably" I'm worried about. And I'm not even that worried. I already know he doesn't appear to have any signs of concussion, and she hasn't mentioned stitches, so OK good. I just don't want to ever look back and wish I had investigated something a little more. Just being thorough is all.
After we're home, Rada and Shanti fuss over Regin appropriately and Shanti is very concerned about "so much blood" on some of the napkins I'd apparently missed on my way out. And when George gets home from work, I tell him the whole saga. Later on he asks me about Regin's runny nose. It seems incessant. I say it's nothing; Regin's been crying off and on all afternoon. This is what he reserved for me. No tears at the doctor's office (her primary way of telling that Regin is OK) but with me it's cry, cry, cry, cry, whine, whine, cryyyyy.... So of course his nose is runny, poor guy!
In the morning, it's still there and now I notice it too. It's now been many hours since the last time he cried and his nose is STILL running. So I Google it. It's probably not, but it COULD be "cerebrospinal fluid" leakage from his fall. YIKES! Further, I read: Any persistant runny nose after a fall should be looked at by a doctor! So I call Dr. Goh.
"It's probably a cold." (This is without seeing him.)
"But it wasn't there before the fall and suddenly it was there after."
"He was probably just about to get a cold when he fell. Give him some antihistamines."
George tells me about another pediatric clinic that some coworkers go to. We call them up and take Regin right over. The doctor doesn't think it is, but she acknowledges that it COULD be cerebrospinal fluid. She consults a neurosurgeon who agrees that we should give Regin a CT scan just to be sure.
Oh that is so sad. First they have to inject Regin with a sedative so that he will lay completely motionless for the scan. He has to be completely passed out. I have to help them hold him down for the injection (sniff) and then I have to hold him for a while in the waiting room and wait for him to become limp, (sniff sniff). When we go for the scan, they will NOT let George follow me through the doors. They totally close the doors behind me and in George's face! When I say that my husband is still out there, they say, "It's ok, it's very fast." Um, no, it's not ok, you just closed the door on him!
"But he wants to--"
"No need, no need. It's very fast."
Excuse me? No need? Who's need? What about George's need?
Then I have to leave Regin, limp on the table, with the big machine around him and go to another room to watch. (sniff sniff sniff.) He looks so sad and helpless. But I get to watch and see the scans of his brain which is really cool but in a scary, I-wonder-if-all-that-looks-normal-to-these-guys sort of a way.
When all is said and done it is nothing, and we go home (after I thank the doctor for taking me seriously). Yes. He has a cold, and the next day, I get one too.
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