Genmedmom here, venting.
It's just been one of those weeks. There was no one particular event. We're fine, we're (mostly) healthy, we're happy.
But, it was just one of those weeks.
I was on call for our practice last weekend. Now, our weekend calls are not that bad. We do not round on inpatients at our hospital anymore; the hospitalists care for our patients. There were not that many pages.
But, the pages came at odd hours, and in bunches. Sleep was totally disrupted. There were stressful moments. Then, we have a brand-new, very complex electronic medical record to content with. I struggled with ordering prescriptions and documenting… Again, nothing big, just, annoying.
Then, Sunday afternoon, Hubby started having nausea, and chills, and muscle aches. Ruh-roh!
Yup, we were in for it. One by one, we were felled by the GI bug. Hubby had a mild version Sunday. Minimal active GI symptoms, but, down for the count. Overnight Sunday, Babyboy started spewing. I was on bucket duty. God love him, he never missed the bucket.
Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, all clear. Long days at work: twelve-plus hour days, mostly immersed in this new computer system. But, no one was sick at home. We all breathed a sigh of relief.
Then. Thursday evening, I started feeling a little queasy. I vasovagaled in the kitchen, caught myself. I went to bed early, wracked with nausea, chills, body aches. I considered calling in sick for Friday. But, I wasn't actively spewing, I just felt like crap.
I debated: There was going to be a snow storm. Going to work in a snowstorm is bad enough, but feeling ill, would be even worse. On the other hand, calling in sick meant I would have to contact the few early morning patients myself, to cancel. But, these patients may be canceling anyways, given the snowstorm... I just couldn't decide, couldn't even deal. It was easier to just suck it up.
Friday morning, 5:30 a.m. I shivered into the shower, bundled up in wool, and headed down. I brewed the coffee, but I couldn't stomach it.
It was just starting to snow. The driving wasn't bad. I drive to the train, and take the train into the city. For the first time since pregnancy, I had to sit down on the train.
Now, I hate when healthy, able-bodied, lazy-ass people take up seats that others may legitimately need. I felt ashamed for sitting, but at the same time, I didn't think anyone would want me passing out onto them, either.
At work, I had plain Earl Grey tea to ward off a caffeine- withdrawal headache. The snow came down. Most patients cancelled. My stomach actually settled. I felt better as the day wore on.
Friday night at home: After I picked up the kids from Nana's house, where they had spent their snow day largely outside, they helped me help shovel out our neighbor. It was after dark, and cold, but they couldn't get enough snow. I was just relieved to be off-call and feeling normal. Whew! I'll get some better sleep tonight, for sure! I thought.
Then Babygirl vomited on the couch.
Babygirl vomited multiple times. Despite strategically placed buckets and towels, we had to change her bed out entirely, twice. She stopped vomiting abruptly at about 11 p.m. and declared that she'd like a glass of water, please. She downed it, and another, and was fine the rest of the night.
Saturday morning, this morning, we were supposed to have a behavior therapy group session with a new family. Babyboy is mildly autistic, and needs help interpreting and managing a lot of social situations. We were supposed to bring Babygirl, too.
We debated. She'd been spewing the night before, but had awoken bright and cheerful. She had wanted warm milk. She drank it, and it stayed down. She was playing, she was smiling.
We decided to take her.
Ten minutes into the session (at another family's house, people we had never met before) she vomited. She managed to warn us, and we managed to get her to their bathroom, but it all ended up on the floor. I cleaned it all up, on my hands and knees, apologizing right and left.
Then, right afterwards, Babyboy had a poop accident. He's five and a half years old. We've been working on toilet training for over two years now. We'd just had a week and a half without a poop accident, our longest stretch ever. We thought maybe, just maybe, he's toilet trained!
Nope. Hubby took care of this mess, in the same bathroom. The family was so kind and understanding, but still. We were so embarrassed. You could smell it for the rest of the session: rancid milk vomitus, foul stool reek.
The kids were supposed to have their first swimming lesson today, as well. It was out of the question for Babygirl. I envisioned her vomiting in the YMCA pool… Good God. No way. Hubby took her home to watch endless Peep and the Big Wide World, all wrapped up in her pink blankie on the couch.
I took Babyboy to the Y. It was his first swimming lesson ever. I was nervous. He was nervous.
It didn't start off well. We walked into the locker room labeled "Family Locker Room". It was packed and bustling with half-dressed men and kids of all ages and moms with babies and SO MUCH NOISE in such a small space… There were changing booths with curtains on them, but I could not remotely imagine getting myself undressed and into my bathing suit, separated from the men and young boys by a flimsy curtain.
But Babyboy made the decision first: "Mommy it's too noisy in here, please let's GO…" He had his hands over his ears like they hurt, overstimulated to a painful degree.
So I took him into the women's locker room with me. We had already changed into our bathing suits when the YMCA police (or whoever she was) came in and informed me that children under eighteen years of age aren't allowed into the women's locker room. At all. Ever. And we had to leave. Now.
The lady was very stern, and Babyboy started to cry. He thought he was being scolded.
"Listen", I pleaded. "I just don't feel comfortable in that Family locker room with all those men and boys around, you know?"
The lady relented. "Well, you can use the Girl's locker room, if you like. Technically, it is for girls, but, he's pretty little…."
And so we did. Apparently, there were no girls of an age that would use the Girl's locker room around, because it was completely empty. We relocated, stuffed our winter gear into a too-small locker and entered the pool area.
Whoa! The pool was super-steamy and the chlorine odor was almost overpowering. I wasn't sure if Babyboy would be able to stand it, but he did. Other than the fact that he slipped and fell on the tiles, requiring a helpful lifeguard to get him an ice pack for his head, Babyboy enjoyed his first swim lesson, such as it was. He wouldn't get in the water without me (I had anticipated this) and there were several other special-needs kids, plus, it's the Y, so of course it was a little scattered and chaotic. But, it was fun, and he was more comfortable in the water at the end then he had been at the beginning.
Back at home, we all laid low the rest of the day. We drew, we read, we watched Peep.
Now, we sleep. I hope…
*This post was written Saturday evening. Sunday morning, our longtime pet cat passed away unexpectedly. The kids were brokenhearted. We were brokenhearted. Obviously, that event overshadowed all of the crap I've complained about here. I decided to let this post stand, however, because it's how I felt at the time. I wrote about our kitty on my own blog: The Biggest Pain In The Ass Cat You Ever Could Love: We'll Miss You, Raffy