911

From the age of 2, I have drilled the kids and instructed them on these three numbers. When to call, who comes when you call and that it is for emergencies only. NEVER did I really think we'd need it.

Last night, we called. Darling Kyle, who seemed to be improving somewhat with his stomach bug, went to bed early. He was so tired from being up the night before and all the trauma his body had been through just being sick--he was out. Or so we thought. About an hour after he went to bed, Kent found him in the hallway. Sleepwalking? We thought maybe, but upon putting him back in bed, it was clear that he was disoriented and something was wrong. We tried to stir him, to talk with him and even to touch him and get him to respond. He just looked past us. Like we weren't there. His arms were outstretched with tremors and he was not able to squeeze my hands or even talk. Something was very wrong. Kent picked him up and carried him down stairs and he continued to decline. His color grew more pale and blue like, he babbled and when offered a drink it just streamed right back out of his mouth and down the front of his body. We couldn't tell if he was having a seizure or otherwise--but he wasn't "with" us mentally, didn't know his name and his muscles were contracting/spasming and his facial expressions were very odd. We decided that the advice nurse just might not make the cut this time. I did it, I dialed 911.

Big sister Karly was a big help. She ran to open the door for the coming help and scurried over to the neighbors (as I told her with panic in my voice) no questions asked. It seemed like forever for help to arrive as Kent held Kyle and continued to try to bring him into reality. I could hear the sirens, knew they were coming, but also didn't like the vision of my child who was in this distant and declining state. He's so tall and thin that he looked so fragile and weak in Kent's arms. I knew he had lost almost 2.5 pounds since his well child check-up last week, and worried he didn't have much left to offer this sickness.

Kyle was very courageous. With firefighters and ambulance personnel right at his side, he didn't flitch when they told him they would be poking and prodding him. They gave him oxygen, took BP, inserted a butterfly port, and tested his blood sugar right here in our family room. Before we left the house in the ambulance, they had him on fluids and he was a little more aware of his surroundings--but not much.

At the hospital it was amazing to see how the fluids brought his color and energy back slowly. The first hour, he slept deeply under the bright lights and within the ER's noisy hallway. He was out. I thought about how hard it would be to do this more than a few hours. My heart goes out to parents who have to sit bedside their ailing children for days/weeks at a time. By the time we were released, after some great IV juice, he was laughing at Daddy's teasing a little and he was clearly KYLE again!

Yesterday just may have been the longest day of my life. I was up just shy of 24 hours straight, and it was a huge pendulum of emotional and physical craziness. Trying to figure out how to help Kyle, seeking medical attention, implementing treatments, thinking he was improving, and then the big crash! We're all exhausted here and hoping today will bring further health for a dear little boy! I hope I never have to be the mom waving her arms to signal the fire truck again!