(you know… the swaying, the inability to make sense, the vagueness, the eyes like road maps...)
If poos, wees and vomits make you squeamish then stop reading. Alternatively, you could set yourself up with potty, bucket and laptop.
I have survived the week from hell. (also known as the week from smell)
Have a look at this pretty picture:
Harmless, innocuous little green dots they are not.
These little bastards have had a monumental party in my gut, my partner’s gut and my son’s. They invited their friends and procreated at an alarming rate.
Viral gastroenteritis.
(Do not lick the screen)
We knew something was seriously wrong when my son metamorphosed into a geyser. A tomato-pasta-breastmilk-geyser to be exact that rushed forth vomit all over the kitchen floor and son’s pyjamas. Whatever we put into the little guy spent approx 30 minutes in his tiny tummy, then it would re-appear – complete with stomach acids – charging jet-like out of his mouth and on to whatever was in its path.
Needless to say we wiped both him and the floor clean, and rushed regurgitating child to the hospital.
At this point I digress: my son seems to become instantly better as soon as we enter a hospital emergency department. He is happy, distracted and completely forgets that he is ill.
The triage nurse tells him he’s putting it on and sticks a thermometer in his ear. He doesn’t have a temperature. He giggles and gives her a cute smile. His mouth is aimed right at her face and I would give anything for a warm, frothy vomit waterfall right now, but no such luck.
Instead we are ushered into the waiting room and it takes my son all of 2 minutes for the excitement to wear off. Now he is cranky but we are stuck. So we sit slowly calcifying over the next four and a half hours.
We give him something to drink in the hopes he will keep it down and see the triage nurse again. Not long after this we are directed to a cubicle and this time he knows to vomit when medical staff are present.
Geyser-boy then has naso-gastric tube inserted and hands bandaged (boxer-style) to prevent him ripping out tube. He protests and it breaks my heart. There is nothing like the blood-curdling scream of an infant in distress.
At least he doesn’t vomit.
Six hours later, tube is removed and we go home.
The exhaustion? Yeah well… we were all pretty tired after that.
I won't discuss the next bit in detail, I will just say this:
once it stops coming out one end, it comes out the other...
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