Never a dull moment.
Routine things become emergencies in an instant.
Let's take yesterday.
Took My Boy to get his quarterly allergy shot.
Sure it involves a needle, but he's been tough in the past.
He will say, "it tickles" when the sharp metal pierces his skin and fills his body with medication.
Say goodbye to booger-sleeve I think.
Because that and his forty-two sneezes in a row each morning are the tell-tale signs he's due for his next dose.
So we're in the office for the third time.
Because pills, eye drops, and nasal sprays just never did the trick.
We're lucky the shot is every 3 months and not weekly, god forbid.
So this time was a tad different, typically the shot is in his arm.
Laying on his stomach the nurse puts the needle in the gluteus maximus.
Per normal, he giggles. He doesn't appear scared in the slightest, plus cousin T is with us, he's being very strong.
All done, easy right? The nurse has him sit up and wait for a few minutes before letting us go, per normal.
Sitting on the edge of the doctor's table, legs dangling below, his head is in his hands.
I blink and there he goes.
Straight off the table, head first onto the floor.
His 71 pound frame smacks onto the ground with a thud and I gasp and head to scoop him up.
Limbs, dead weight.
I scream, "BUD!" and the nurse and the doctor run in.
They turn him over and his eyes are saucers, huge and scared, he's breathing, I'm crying.
The doctor talks to him calmly and takes his pulse, "he's okay," he says to me.
My legs shake uncontrollably beneath me and I fear I'm next on the floor.
I sit and the nurse asks, "has this ever happened before?" No. "I've never had a patient faint on me." I don't feel relieved.
My son stands with the aid of the doctor and then lays on his back onto the table, he's pale and in shock. They gather the tubes and give him oxygen and an ice pack for the second forehead that is growing below his hairline.
I'm finally thinking clearly and ask the doctor, "is this normal? Is he okay?"
"Yes, needle shock is common, though my nurse should have had him laying down afterwards." He shoots a glare.
He says he'll be back and comes and goes between patients for the next 40 minutes.
Color comes back to my sons cheeks and lips, he looks at me more clearly, he says, "my head hurts."
Tylenol is administered and he says he doesn't feel nauseous or has to vomit. Good signs that he doesn't have a concussion.
I hear the doctor tell the nurse in the hall, "he should have been laying down after the shot."
We're discharged, keep an eye on nausea or vomiting.
I get my son home, he's sleepy and weak, though he does have an appetite, good sign.
Over a treat of ice cream later in the night, I ask, "what happened?"
"The shot tickled, then it hurt, then I fell. It was weird. It scares me to talk about it."
I hug him and say it's okay.
I try to keep from crying. I try to be strong.
Being a mom is hard.