About three and a half weeks ago, Little I. started complaining his tummy hurt. He started eating less and less. Then he had the diarrhea. Then he started puking.
On the Saturday, five days before I started my new job, we took him to the ER. We were there 12 hours for IV rehydration. I took him in again on Sunday. He seemed to perk up and got over the illness.
Toddler N. had mild diarrhea this whole time.
On Wednesday night, Super A. started throwing up. He seemed better Thursday, but by Friday, my first day of work, he was very ill.
Hubby stayed home with him Friday so I could start my new job. On Friday night, N. started puking too.
By Sunday my oldest and youngest were so dehydrated the nurse who lives next door said they needed the ER right away.
It took five sticks to get an IV needle into A., his veins were so small from dehydration. He was listless, vomiting bile and passing out between vomits.
They had to put N.'s IV into her external jugular vein. She was poked six times before that. Her kidneys stopped working properly and she didn't pee in three days.
They were in the hospital four days. They were the worst four days of my life, camped out on a cot, praying their organs wouldn't shut down.
The kids were released a week ago. They looked terribly thin. Hubby has been feeding them up ever since.
I've been watching them sleep at night this week, looking at the bloom of health on their cheeks again and thanking God I didn't lose them.
And I've been thinking about the mothers who do. Mothers in the Third World who lose children to vomiting and diarrhea.
There are millions of them every year, dead for the want of IV fluids and simple medications.
Even in my children's illness and suffering, I am blessed and fortunate. It's not fair and I am not deserving.
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