"Oh no!" You might exclaim. "Whatever for? Probably something terrible and life threatening, right?"
Well, sure. It was vomit. We went to the ER twice for vomit. My insurance is billing us hundreds of dollars for vomit.
The Beginning of This Ridiculous Story:
A few hours later Baby JAR begins to vomit.
Now I am a conscientious, slightly neurotic parent. So I read tons of books and hang first aid leaflets on the walls. Sometimes I stand in front of said leaflets, with a blank expression on my face, desperately trying to remember my purpose in life. Sometimes I read the leaflets. And it clearly states, "Call the pediatrician for a child with a head injury and any of the following: persistent headache or vomiting."
So I call the pediatrician and they tell us to come in. Long story short, the pediatrician says that while Baby JAR seems completely healthy (excluding vomit stains down shirt), he should have his brain "imaged" at the ER because he may have a bleed which could cause his brain to swell and kill him. (Not a direct quote.)
Now I am hysterical. I went in looking for reassurance and left clutching directions to the children's hospital emergency department.
So of course my son begins to vomit profusely in his carseat. His very safe and expensive rear facing convertible carseat. I can't see him or reach him. I'm the only adult in the car. It's rush hour. I am imagining swollen brain tissue, seizures, and vomit aspiration. So what do I do? Roll down my window, scream at the other cars to get the f--- out of my way, pull into a Hyundai dealership, and call 911.
By the time the paramedics arrive (which wasn't long), Baby JAR is smiling at car salesmen, making vrroooommm noises, and blowing kisses. He is clearly in need of professional medical support. They transport us to the ER. The paramedic tells me that when people drive in my state (i.e. full-blown hysteria due to over-active imagination), "accidents happen" (direct quote).
So we go the ER, get checked out and get sent home. The doctor says that the vomiting may be related to fall, but either way, it had been long enough without any other symptoms. Whoosh, what relief! My baby is fine and my husband and I have something interesting to discuss over dinner.
The next day he starts vomiting again. He won't eat. He won't play. I call the pediatrician and they send me back to the ER. Again.
I manage to get us there without calling 911, but of course Baby JAR throws up all over the car. Again.
They ask us all of the same questions at the ER:
Any fever or other symptoms of illness? No.
Anyone else in the family throwing up? No.
Is he eating? No.
Etc, etc, etc.
They decide to give him anti-nausea medicine and see if he can keep any food down. If he can't, they'll proceed with a CT scan.
At this point, Big JAR arrives. He had just talked to his friend--whose family we spent the previous weekend with--and it turns out they all have the stomach flu. Really. This is information I would have welcomed Tuesday morning.
Less than one minute later, Baby JAR bends over and fills his diaper with a sick, viscous substance. This kid definitely does not have a brain injury--he has the flu! I am elated, overcome, slightly queasy with... joy. Yes, joy.
We are sent home with a popsicle and promises of an astronomical medical bill.
Big JAR and I spend the next three days violently ejecting all fluids from our bodies. We cannot do anything but lie on the floor and cry for the end. The dogs took care of Baby JAR a la Good Dog Carl. We threw them a box of Cheerios and wished them the best.
