Showing posts with label instinct. Show all posts
Showing posts with label instinct. Show all posts

Friday, July 30, 2010

Feeling a little blue


On Thursday night I was scared. Very scared. Scared to the point where at times I couldn't talk because I knew it would mean I would cry – and the way I cry you can't understand what I'm saying, my words come out sounding like a bear stuck in a lawnmower. But I had to keep calm and in stay in control.

Tricky had been a little grumpy for a few hours, more than likely because the day before he had received his first immunisations, so we decided to give him a bath because he really likes them. Every time he gets in the water he goes wide eyed and quiet, as if he is concentrating on the sensations. Instead of bathing him in his plastic bathtub, we put him in the big bath with me so he could get some nice cuddles at the same time as getting squeaky clean. Two birds, one stone, perfect.

This time though, instead of the usual look of awe, he did really long, slow blinks and then went to sleep on my chest. I tried waking him up a few times but he just wanted to go back to sleep. He had been sleepy earlier because of the shots, but not like this. I turned him around to face me, mainly because I thought he looked so scrumptious in his naked sleepiness and I wanted a better look at him. Then I noticed that all around his lips, the skin was tinged blue. I called in Hubby. Did he think it looked blue too, or was it just the lights? No. It wasn't the lights. He had a little five o'clock shadow about fifteen years too early.

We got out of the bath and he didn't cry. He normally has a little cry when he realises the lovely watery world of the tub has been taken away from him. But he was silent. I didn't like it one bit. He was still breathing fine, and there was no other discolouration on him anywhere else but the little alarm bells going off in my head would not be silenced.

The colour returned shortly after that but I couldn't shake one image from my mind – photos of my sister with her lips blue from lack of oxygen. Should we just watch for a while and see if he was alright? Or should we go by the old 'better safe than sorry' mantra and head to the emergency department? There was no way I would be able to sleep without knowing he was alright, so we went to Princess Margaret Hospital for Children. On the way there I sat in the back seat and watched him the entire time, I just couldn't look away. I had to see his chest moving up and down.

In triage his oxygen saturation was measured and found to be 99% so he was definitely not in any immediate danger. We were given a bed in emergency and found ourselves at the bottom of the list. Strangely I found this comforting. They would have rushed to us if they thought he was sick, wouldn't they? In the bed to our right was a boy with a broken arm and Hubby and I chatted about when he broke his arm as a kid, falling off his bike. I wanted to talk about anything and everything... to keep my mind occupied so that it didn't wander off with worst case scenarios. It did not help that the song stuck in my head was “Blue Lips” by Regina Spektor.

After a while we were seen by an amazing young doctor who made me feel immediately at ease. She didn't make me feel like an idiot for coming in, she listened to the history of my sister's heart defect and then examined him thoroughly – she listened to his heart, checked to see if his hands, feet and tongue were pink, and did other doctor-y things. He was fine. She explained that sometimes this happens, it's normal. Really? It's normal for my kid's mouth to go blue? Apparently, yes. Because it was the area around his lips and not the lips themselves. Bizarre. I was given a full medical explanation but in the emotion of it all I've forgotten what exactly it was.

We arrived home at 1.00am and I cried with a mix of relief and exhaustion. I thought I would feel silly for going to the hospital only to be turned around with a clean bill of health, possibly labelled a paranoid parent... but I didn't. Instead I felt secure in the knowledge that I'd done the right thing. My Tricky was safe and the saying is right because it's way better than being sorry. I slept soundly... until he woke me up for another feed anyway.

Monday, July 12, 2010

To serve and protect


Last night we had a prowler. Hubby and I were awoken (while Tricky slept soundly) by Sprocket madly barking followed by the sounds of someone running down the side of our house and jumping our almost six foot high gate. This is the third time (spread over five years and two houses) that someone has tried to break in to our home, but the first time as parents.

Hubby leapt in to action, double checking that the house was secure and called the police on their non-emergency number (we had heard the person leave, we were in no danger) who then patrolled the street a few times in case the perp (oooh I feel like I'm in Law & Order) moved a few houses down to try his luck there. The times this had happened previously, out of the two of us, Hubby was the more spooked – understandably so when you consider he did come face to face with the intruder on the second occasion! This time though, it was completely different. My easy going, laid back husband was gone and in his place was Super Dad, protector of the family!

So where was I? The one who normally isn't too freaked out knowing that I'm safe inside and the bad guy is outside? I was sitting up in bed too afraid to move – there might have been a boogey man under the bed waiting to grab my ankle after all. I felt vulnerable and exposed like never before even though the previous intruders left tool marks on the doors and this guy only left footprints in the sand. He hadn't gotten anywhere near as close as the others thanks to Sprocket the Wonder Dog giving him the fright of his life yet I was shaking like a leaf.

I'm sure that becoming a dad has switched that protective instinct on in Hubby's head, but I thought mine would have been in full force too. Or perhaps it was and it is showing itself by making me much more alert and aware of those “what ifs” that were running through my head. Pappa Bear is big and fierce while Mumma Bear nurtures? There is only one thing I know for sure, and that is that I'm reading way too much in to this!

Did you feel instantly protective over your little ones?

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