This morning at 7, Katie woke up with the classic signs of a migraine: pain in the front of her head, light/sound sensitivity, and nausea. So, I gave her some motrin, put her in our darkened bedroom with a vomit bucket, and tried to get myself and Max ready for the day while Brandon walked the dogs and then helped me with her. She nearly immediately started vomiting, though, and I called the doctor’s office to ask them if there were any rescue meds for migraines when they asked me if she’d ever been diagnosed with them.
“No,” I said, “I’ve had them since I was young and she’s showing all the signs I’d expect. But… she did have this fall yesterday…”
They told me to try giving her some tylenol since an hour had passed, and to push fluids in case she was dehydrated, but she was conked out. By 11, though, Brandon told me that she was vomiting every 30 min and he decided to call our pediatrician. He took her in and at noon they decided that she needed to get to urgent care.
After it turned out that this urgent care didn’t have a cat scan machine for kids, they sent her to Lucile Packard Children’s Hospital. Result? Katie had a concussion from a fall that happened at around 3pm the day before, and she hadn’t shown signs at all until she woke the next day. (Before I tell you what happened, please enjoy this blog/lj post about the last time Katie decided to injure her brain, during which I believed briefly that my kid had died right in front of my eyes.)
So at Stafford Park in Redwood City, they have this thing that is essentially a fixed zipline. In order to get Katie or Max high enough to hold on, we have to almost put them on our shoulders, which we have done numerous times. Katie asked me to help her, and the first time I did, she yelled at me (Katie screams primarily via yelling) for holding on to her too long. Since she is kick-ass at monkey bars, I thought she knew what she was talking about, so I put her on, and pushed her one way (and she hit the end pretty hard, so her body sort of flew to the side, making it clear to me I needed to be less pushy). I then pushed her more softly the other way. Then I pushed her back the first way again, and she suddenly was face-down in the tanbark. She was PISSED AS HELL and also crying, because she was hurt and she told me that it was my fault she’d fallen because she’d told me to stop and I hadn’t. (This could very possibly be true, but I was behind her so if she did, I simply didn’t hear her.) So, I was holding her on the ground, she was crying and telling me she hates me, and I could see that the bridge of her nose was red, and I checked her mouth to make sure she wasn’t hurt and I even thought for a second that I should check her eyes but she was totally alert and unlike the way she was the last time she had a concussion.
We went home, and the kids hung out and played and Katie ate a great dinner (considering the fact that it was a fish dish that neither of the kids liked), and she hit the hot tub, and had a bath, and was totally normal except that I could see a little bruising on her nose and I was actually worried that Katie was going to end up with a couple of black eyes. She freaked out about that, a little, until I showed her how concealer worked and said that we could use it if we needed to. And then she went to sleep and slept all night.
So, the moral of this story is: your kid may not show signs of concussion for more than 15 hours after the injury, and that will make you feel like twice the jerkface parent because a) you were part of the reason they got hurt and then b) you jumped entirely to the wrong conclusion about why the heck they were crying and hurt.
(In other news, Max was again stellar in helping — gold star for Mr. Blondiepants. And Brandon got to take care of his most favorite patient, and go with her to two hospitals. The hardest that I had to deal with was the guilt, the guilt, helping her this morning while she was hurting, the guilt, and then trying to entertain her tonight when she wasn’t allowed screens, books, or much of any activity, to let her brain rest. Oh yeah, and the guilt.)
Also, while he’ll probably never read this, shout-out to my boss, who was trying to convince me constantly today to go to the hospital with her and B. (I declined because I wanted to be able to get out and get Max easily, and because I just started crying when I thought about how this was, ostensibly, my fault. Jewish+Catholic guilt, yo, it’s the stuff.)