Thing 1 is very sensitive to pain. Thing 2 can break concrete with her knees, then get up and say “I’m ok!” So when she complained about not being able to breathe deeply after a day at the pool, I paid attention. Those old NICU terrors were quick to surface. I drove like a crazy woman!
Don’t do that, I learned that you don’t need to.
Medical Quik-E Mart wouldn’t take our insurance. Terror swells. I had tears in my eyes when I felt an arm on my shoulder.
Thing 1, 12 and as tall as me, that former micropreemie, was hugging me. A moment of selflessness that physically reminded me that more than a decade has passed since the NICU.
We got to the hospital and they clamped the blood oxygen meter on her finger.
They listened to her lungs. They ordered an x-ray. It was long past bedtime. “Has Thing 1 ever had an x-ray?” “Yes, every day for six weeks when he was in the NICU.” Because he was intubated. And several other times. He doesn’t remember any of it, huzzah.
The sweet white-haired, moustached x-ray tech pulled the tv remote onto her bed on his way out. We spent the rest of the night watching American Ninja Warrior. Eventually they sent us home. She was ok. You know I have a helicopter history. Indeed, the next day Dad asked doubtfully: Why did mom take you to the hospital? Thing 2: Because she loves me.
I did the right thing. The ER folks agreed.
Read this important article on dry drowning from TodayParents so that you’ll know the warning signs.