Penang -- Week 29 -- A Salt and Neglect

Week 29
WEEKEND, September 26th - 28th
The weekend starts out nice.  Early Friday evening, we take a walk, as a family, along Gurney Drive and out to the rocks along the shore.  There, we sit for a while and take in the view.  I never get tired of looking at the water, and the warm pinks of sunset, combined with the other sensory experiences of sitting out by the wave-kissed shore and the sounds and smells of the nearby restaurants only makes it that much more of a moment to remember.  And as if that wasn't enough, we spot a monitor lizard darting between the rocks right in front of us!

After that it's all downhill.  Salsa dancing is ok, Saturday's highlight is watching iTunes downloads, and Sunday is all about missed trips to our neighborhood Buddhist temples (was feeling ill) and forgotten fun at the monthly Little Penang Street Market (how could I forget again?).

Monday I'm determined to go out and do fun and productive things, but Mother Nature has other ideas.  So the witch throws serious storms at us all day and night.  Actually it's been since Sunday night.  Great.  Now I'm going to be behind on my laundry again with no dry balcony to hang my clothes on.

MONDAY, September 29th
It's an eventful day as it turns out.  It has one event too many as far as I'm concerned.  One particular event:  Regin finds the baggie of sea salt on the dining room table and spreads some salt love around the apartment.  He's gleaming with his glorious find when I finally see what he's up to.  I'm pretty sure he's eaten some of it.  Question is, how much?  And how much is too much?  I go online to answer the latter question. 

Great.  Apparently some small number of tablespoonfuls is fatal to a toddler.  There's an alleged murder case popping up again and again on various news sites.  George arrives just then and I tell him we may have to take Regin to the hospital.  I don't think he's had much if any salt, but to be sure we probably aught to go.  George asks about the milk mustache Regin has.  Turns out (after a taste test) it's crystalized, salty saliva.  I call my beloved Dr. Goh.
"I know that if he's eaten enough that it could be fatal."
"I very much doubt that he could eat that much.  Did he have a spoon?"
"No."  I wasn't thinking yet about the easy-pour bag the salt was in, and about how long he'd had to consume a deadly amount over a length of time instead of in one sitting.
"Well, I think it would be very difficult to eat that much salt.  It just wouldn't taste good."
"OK, but are there some signs I could look for that would indicate that he'd had more than we thought and that he should see a doctor?"
"Well, I don't know, I mean there might be fits [seizures] and he would be very thirsty, but I don't think that could happen.  It would be very hard for a little boy to eat that much salt."  She pauses before asking, "How was he after his runny nose?"
"Sorry?"
"You called me after he fell and had a runny nose."
"Oh! Yes!"
"So how did that turn out?"
Grrr... I don't like her tone.  "Oh I don't remember, I think he got sick, that was a while ago now."
"Yes, well, I think he will be just fine."

I'm sick of her.  She doesn't take anything I ask about seriously and now she's implying that I am overprotective and paranoid.  I'm neither.  I just never want to look back and wish that I would have checked that one thing out.  If we were all wrong and he had consumed too much salt, I would be upset with myself for not making sure I'd checked it out appropriately.

I called the pediatric clinic at the hospital that gave Regin his CT scan. 
"I think my son ate a bunch of salt."
"Ah?"
"My son may have eaten too much salt."
"You want a consult?"
"No, salt, table salt.  My son ate salt.  I want to know if I should bring him in."
"Oh salt! Umm... hard to say without see him.  I think you should bring him and doctor can have a look.  Can not say for sure if we not see him."

Hmmm... I think she just didn't want to deal with the language barrier over the phone.  George suggests I call Ask-a-Nurse in the States, but we don't know the number.  So we call North Suburban Medical Center in Thornton and they transfer us.  The connection is terrible because of the storm.  Every other word is gone, sometimes entire sentences.  We're absolutely struggling to communicate before we get disconnected.  I go through all the hoops to connect back to the same woman.  She's dismissive.  In as few words as possible (I know, not my strong suit) I explain that I know it's unlikely that he has eaten that much, but I just want to know some signs to look for that would mean I should change my mind and take him to the hospital. 
"Is he thirsty?  He would be very thirsty.  But I just don't think he could eat that much on his own." (Being dismissive is just as common in American doctors).
"OK, but what are the signs that I should worry about if he did eat too much?"
"Well if you're really worried, you should call Poison Control."

So I call Poison Control.  The connection is just as bad, but thankfully the woman is very patient with me.  She's trying to give me suggestions but every suggestion is cut out of our conversation, and half of my questions are too.  Finally I'm able to answer when she asks what he weighs and she looks up the toxicity of salt at that weight.  She says it's only a couple of teaspoons, and do I think he could have eaten that much."
"I honestly don't know."
"Is the hospital far?"
"No."
"Well, you could wait and see, since the hospital is close, but if you think that he may have possibly eaten that much..."
"Well, he did have the bag to himself for quite some time. Maybe half an hour.  Maybe more."
"Go to the hospital now!  You could wait and see, but you don't want to have to start thinking about going to the hospital when he's already having seizures, so just go."
FINALLY A CLEAR ANSWER!!!

So we take him to the pediatric clinic.  It's the same doctor as last time.  I may have to find an alternate clinic if I'm going to continue checking everything out!  She's also dismissive.  I tell her what Poison Control had said. She offers to do a blood test to check sodium levels.  We accept.  Regin is an absolute star when they are poking him, taking his blood, and leaving a tube in his arm (in case they have to flush him with fluids if he does have too much sodium.)  Then we wait and wait.  No food.  Missed dinner.  No food in the hospital.  Regin couldn't be happier though.  There is a slide in the waiting room and a pond with fish.  Finally the results are back.  Normal.  But suddenly her dismissive tone has changed.  "You know, you really should lock detergents and medicines away from your son."  Oh!  So now she thinks I'm neglectful!  I'm not sure what that has to do with table salt though.
"They are locked away, this was salt... on the dining room table!"
She nods, but she has that judging look in her eye.

Yeah, I know, mother of the year.  I'm both completely paranoid and totally neglectful.  I can't win in either direction.