Yesterday I was getting the kids packed and ready for our Kentucky adventure (oooohhhh....caving! and baseball bat museums), when Maddie totally threw her brother under the bus. She informed us that Nate swallowed a metal ball from his "Bull's Eye" game.
But it was a looooong time ago. Uh, he's owned this thing for less than a month, so define a loooong time ago? We interrogated Nate, who owned up to swallowing said metallic magnetic ball a while ago, but he doesn't know when. So I'm thinking "Crap, what to do?"
John wants me to call SuperNurse Karin. You know he's worried when he wants me to call on another for help. Especially a medical professional. So I call her, and before I'm done even explaining we have this little exchange:
"A metal ball? Which one of yo.....Never mind. I know it was Nate."
"REally, how did you know?"
"Girl, that kid, I'm tellin' ya. I SWEAR he wasn't dropped on his head at birth. I was there. I made sure of it".
And at this point I'm thinking that a drop on the noggin may have helped. But, I digress. So SuperNurse Karin suggests that I call the company that makes the game, and then poison control. It's after 5, so I have no hopes of calling a toy company and not talking in discernible English to someone about my problem, so I called poison control.
THE WOMAN AT POISON CONTROL WAS LAUGHING AT ME. I'm not even kidding. Here's how that convo went down.
"Hello, this is poison control. Lucy speaking" (I made that name up).
Hi Luce. I sort of have a problem, but not really, I don't think, and I was wondering I guess if maybe you could help me.
"Uh, Okay."
See, my son swallowed a metal ball from this game. It's about the size of a Hungry Hippo ball, but it's metal. And magnetic.
"Ohhhhhh Kay. I see. And how old is your son?"
He's FIVE Lucy! Can you believe this? He's totally old enough not to be doing this crap.
"Well, I don't think these toys are toxic, so you don't have to worry about any metal leakage. Most often these things pass right thru the system. When did you say he swallowed it?"
Well, Lucy, that's just the thing, see. I'm mother of the year, and I have no freaking idea. His little sister just threw him under the bus, tattled on him and they both decided this was a long time ago. Which in 5 year old terms could have been 5 minutes ago, yesterday, a week ago. Do you see my dilemma Lucy?
Okay, and at this point, I don't think I was worried about the swallowing a toy bit. I think it was the whole not knowing part that was creeping up on me, because what else have these kids digested that I don't even want to know about? And WHY on God's great earth am I spending so much money of food, organic healthy clean food when they eat their frickin' toys?
Lucy asks if Nate is symptomatic with a sore tummy. No, he's eating just fine, and only food for now. So, she suggests calling the doctor today to get a script for an x-ray, and for this I am grateful, because she actually was aware of the ridiculousness that is a modern day ER and since he's not having a bellyache, he's probably fine for now, but we should monitor to make sure this ball is passing on thru. And then she lays the doozy on me.
"Also, you're going to have to check his stool for a few days, these things take between 3 and 5 days to pass."
But we already decided it could have passed, right Lucy?
"Yes, it's possible. Aaaand, what's your name again, ma'am. For our statistics? Also, I'm going to need your number so we can call and check on Nate."
Hah. Funny that. We're going on Vacation, that's why I'm in quasi-panic mode. And really Lucy, if my daughter wasn't mad at her brother, we would never have been having this conversation.
"Yah, well, I need your info just for our statistics." And I heard under her breath (and to inform child protective services because you are a whack job).
So I gave her the info while bemoaning the fact that "Do I REALLY have to go thru his poo?"
Yes, Jennifer you do. You want to make sure it came out, right?
See, Lucy, that's just the thing. At this point I don't even CARE anymore. He's not going to be poisoned, right? I'm just not into this whole putting on a glove and fecal inspection thing.
"We'll call you in a few days ma'm. Just to be sure".
Maybe jail for negligent mommies comes with a padded cell, a margarita, and a good book. We can only hope.
1 comment:
hahahaha! poo picker!
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