dwivian | Feb. 6th, 2007

So....

yeah.

If you read

elfgirl, you've already seen her side of the events of last night.

I was driving home, a little early because da munchkin had a therapist appointment and da elf couldn't get the kids from daycare/afterschool. As she was driving to munchkin's doctor, I was driving up the Interstate, complaining that my exit was unusually full of cars all the way into the tunnel. About that point da elf remarked "I think we have a problem." I asked what, and she said, "I can't breathe. I think I'm reacting to the levaquin."

Now, if you know me, you know my immediate reaction to problems and panics is to get extremely calm and process-focused. I told her to abort the therapist, and get directly to a doctor's office, or call 911. Alas, I quickly discovered that the traffic delay in the tunnel had caused me to lose phone signal, and I was fairly sure she'd heard none of that. Now, da elf is pretty smart, and I know she'd think of the right solution as well but I also know she's a bit scattered when out of sorts, and "Hey, I'm going to die" is pretty up there in disrupting your day..... so, I was quite upset that I couldn't confirm what she was doing.

It was the longest 2 minutes of my life, I think, as I tried to figure out how to pass all the cars in the tunnel. Alas, there were SUVs and trucks ahead of me that I couldn't get around, even had I tried, so I waited until I got to the other side. As soon as cellular service indicators began to flicker active I was already dialing. And, I got da munchkin. This was **NOT** good, in my mind. I asked her to tell me what was going on, but it was quickly obvious she wasn't in a right frame of mind, either. I told her to hang up with me and call 911 if her mother seemed incapacitated, but she said no, as they were parked at the hospital already.

Yes, da elf managed to have her reaction a block from an emergency room.

I listened to the check-in process, and when I was sure she was in reasonable care I instructed da munchkin to call her therapist and inform him of the cancellation, and I called da elf's regular doctor to let them know about the nasty reaction. My call was apparently startling enough that I got the actual doctor, which I wasn't expecting, and he is now anticipating an update this morning about what the ER did. We really like him (if you're in East Cobb County, Georgia, he's at the WellStar clinic on Johnson Ferry Road: Dr. Phillipe Batista).

I called back into

elfgirl support and got the munchkin to narrate the proceedings as I fetched the remaining children and headed that way. I got to hear about da elf looking like a cell phone as the epinepherine took hold and gave her the vibratory shakes. When da elf started turning blue, the worry in da munchkin's voice was apparent. I listened to the indications of a need for an X-ray, and of the second shot (didn't hear what it was, but that wasn't important). I found parking, ran to the front door with two bewildered kidlets, and asked about my wife.

Wife is a powerful word -- they shuttle you to the bed quickly when it is thrown about.

I think da munchkin was happy to have someone else there, and the kidlets were instructed to be on perfect behaviour as this was NOT a time for anything else. I got to grab a doctor for a bit, and listened to their take on how she was doing.

And, as I feared inside, they were exceptionally happy she was so near to their door when it all started. Until she reads this, da elf will not have been told, in their eyes, just how close she had come to dying. Had she been a mile further out, she'd have a hole in her throat, and that might not have helped considering the location of the swelling. The doctor took me aside to the room they use for grief counselling so he could explain the intensity of the reaction, and that it might happen again as the counter-medicine wore off. Da elf knew the medical term, but I got the layman's explanation.

And, so I took turns watching her until they said we could go home (and got the message out to family, procured snacks for the rather patient kidlets, and paced up and down the hallway a lot). When we finally got home I made her sit downstairs in our recliner so she could be observed until almost midnight, when the worst of the risk was over. Soup was the meal of choice, and she posted about her ordeal, as if it was no big thing.

Yeah....

Special thanks go to

thegreyman, who got me to the pharmacy, and back to my car. I owe you big time.

Da elf has started up a different medical regimen, along with serious anti-inflammatory and anti-histimine backups, and my epi-pen is by her side for emergency use if needed. Every time she relaxed in the night I felt her back to make sure she was breathing. I have listened to every cough, every wheeze, and every rustle of the bedcovers. Once I felt it was safe, I planned to come to work to put some level of stability on my day (because I have critical meetings with timelines that can't slide). The kids are at school, and my brain is foggy.

I think I'll start my fear and panic about 3pm tomorrow. It will take about that long to sink in, and things should be stable enough for me to fall apart for an hour or so.