My worst nightmare.

Yesterday afternoon shortly after we returned from the store, I was making my husband a sandwich to drop off at his work. Evie who loves to eat, continued to pull and my arms indicating she was still hungry even though she just barely ate. Realizing the sandwich I was making wasn't for her, she went out the back door. I heard her brother playing outside, talking with the neighbor kids and had just checked the back gate before left earlier and knew it was shut. Five minutes later I see one of my new young adult neighbors walk by my kitchen window in front and hear a woman say, "Is this where you live?" Just as I was about to reply, "no he's next door" (seriously), I see Evie holding the womans hand.

I immediately drop what I was doing, fly out the front door leaving it open, and run up to Evie who was smiling, clearly pleased with herself for making yet another successful escape. In the short time she was gone, she had walked down the street and decided to sit down in the middle of the crossroad. I curse the house we rent for not having a kitchen window overlooking the backyard and myself for not being more vigilant.  I am grateful, however,  the street our house is on is a drive that horseshoes against a slightly more busy street that runs along the back of two schools so through traffic is minimal.

I thank the woman and her son for bringing her home. I tell the neighbor she's autistic as I look at Evie's dirty tank top and barefeet, hoping she doesn't call CPS. Even if she did, oh well, my Evie's safe. I give Evie another hug as she tries to bite, giggling. The neighbor said she figured she had some form of Autism and was surprised that Evie let her carry her back home, I told her Evie likes to be held and again thanked her.

This morning I'm customizing an ID bracelet and buying a padlock for the back gate, grateful I still have four children.

The Neverending Vat of Vomit

                

I have yet to find one of these cartoons that are closer to the truth. My three older children know that if they get sick, mom treats them first... unless of course they aren't breathing or bleeding severely from some appendage.  Being a nurse and having four children, I have a fairly good idea of what will happen to my child at the family clinic for various maladies ranging from earaches to vomiting and nothing ever freaks me out. Unless it's Evie.

Having a child that doesn't have a specific way of communicating puts quite the wrench into the mommy clinic operations. And to tell you the truth, it scares the crap out of me when she gets sick because of it. Perhaps its because I had to give her CPR last summer when her temperature spiked to 104. Her eyes rolled back and she went limp and blue a few minutes after I gave her Tylenol. She had never had febrile seizures before and never exhibited the classic tonic/clonic movements, which through my training through a loop. She has also gone from completely fine one minute, to vomiting and diarrhea to the next. I can't ask her if she ate something she shouldn't have or to point specifically to where it hurts which makes it very hard to assess how serious her illness is.

Wednesday night, I very suddenly came down with some stomach bug. I'll spare you the TMI details but needless to say, I was within five feet of the bathroom all night and I was having upper gastric pain 6 out of 10. (I honestly have a high pain tolerance.) I stayed on the couch the next day, sipped Gatorade and remained otherwise incapacitated. I finally ate some soup late that night which brought on the stomach cramps again, but on a much lesser scale. Today I was fine. Guess which child whatever bug I had decided to invade? Yup.

Two hours ago Evie had vomited everything from today. She didn't cry, wasn't upset, no fever but was laying in more of a fetal position. We quickly gave her a bath and brought her into bed. Typically she screams for a cup or something to drink before going back to bed but she's just been laying down. Basing on what I felt two nights ago I hope it will pass. She still has no fever but continues to dry heave every half hour since. Her lungs sound clear, her skin color is good, and when I start singing her favorite song, The Wheels On The Bus, she gives me a sheepish grin and rolls over. "Mom, knock it off. I feel like crap."

Thanks to my overactive imagination, I imagine she'll continue to dry heave,  in some way aspirate in the night, and I'll sleep through it. Or I'll wake up tomorrow and somehow she'll have regressed and not make any eye contact whatsoever. I worry that I'll have to take her to the Saturday clinic tomorrow where they will tell me to watch her output, begin with small amounts of clear liquids and slowly advance to bland foods.  Or worse, the Saturday clinic would already be filled and I'd have to take her to the ER. 

All I can do now is prop her head up the best I can and be ready with a washcloth.