We have had a rough couple of weeks and, at this point, it's becoming quite comical. I'm at the point now where I just have to laugh to keep from crying.
I posted HERE about our trip with Connor to the emergency room where he had awful abdominal pain, which turned out to be "just" constipation. Well, the pain continued. And continued. And continued for 3 more days. Finally, two Sunday's ago, after he hadn't slept for 5 nights, he lost it. He cried and cried and screamed some more for an hour and a half. I called an advice nurse who had me talk to two separate doctors and the conclusion was that I probably needed to come in again (hello $250 ER copay two days after having just paid said copay). To the ER. Great. So, after several more hours on a Sunday afternoon, an IV, some blood tests, and an ultrasound - it was determined, this time, that he had "just" gas. Poor babe.
Sunday night at around midnight, Connor finally got a couple hours of sleep and then, because I must have done something REALLY wrong in a past life (ha!), Aiden woke up at 4am and wouldn't go back down. Goodness Gracious.
I'd like to tell you that's where the humorous turn of events ends. But as all such tragedies go, it didn't end there.
The next day at lunch I ate something that "tasted funny." I knew when I was eating it that it wasn't right and I even suspected that my freezer (I have a little freezer in my classroom) had defrosted the pasta and then refrosted it. But still, being the above average intelligence person I am, I decided the right thing to do would be to consume the food that I knew was probably not right. What can I say? I'm pretty smart.
About 15 minutes after lunch, I was overwhelmed with nausea. As in, whoa! I am going to throw up on my seventh graders overwhelmed feeling. Yikes. Long story short, I threw up. A lot. So much, in fact, that I no longer was able to stay awake. I decided (remember how smart I am?) to take a nap on the floor in the bathroom at my work. My last thought before dozing off was, "I hope someone sees my car in the parking lot and figures out I'm still here." The rest of the details are a little fuzzy and out of order, but someone figured out I was there (they HAD thought I went home...until someone realized my car was still there)...they called in the school nurse who sat with me for an hour...and then eventually, it was decided that I needed to go to the hospital. When it became apparent that I could not walk or really even talk all that well...not to mention my inability to stop throwing up, they decided an ambulance ride was in order and I got my very first ride in the back of an ambulance with an adorable paramedic. Almost immediately, they gave me a zofran, and almost immediately I felt like a human being again. I have never before experienced anything like that.
And so then the tragedy ends. Riiiiiggggght? Oh no, my friends, it continues.
As if the heavens opened up and God himself decided that I had had enough, the kids all slept soundly that night for the first time in a LONG time. The next morning, I woke up bright and early to take my husband to the airport for a 10 day trip to Canada for work. Perfect timing, right?
That night I had high hopes for everyone (seeing as though the kids had slept so soundly the night before while my husband was home). It wasn't until Aiden's crying reached feverish pitches that I started to question my positive and upbeat prognosis. Aiden spent that night throwing up a few times and writhing in pain in my bed the rest of that night, which meant I got about 3 hours of sleep that night.
Thinking that without a doubt the tragedies that had befallen me were OVER, I got a little smug. I'm going to sleep SO WELL tonight, I began to think. At first, my luck seemed to be changing and miraculously all the twins went to sleep right away. However, as if orchestrated by some sinister plan to wreak havoc on my sleep plans, as soon as I put the twins down, Connor began to writhe in pain. 20 minutes later, Izzy started crying. I brought her downstairs and she threw up. Here we go again, I thought. After getting her settled in my bed, Aiden began crying out for me. And so the dance of the crying children went. That night I got about 3 hours of sleep.
And so my luck went. I am exhausted and, today, marks Day 10 of no husband. We have played musical beds each night and every night I go to bed wondering who will cry out because they are unable to sleep, who will be sick or not feeling well, or who will just end up in my bed because I'm too tired to do the "it's time to go to bed in your own bed" dance. You know that dance, right? Please tell me I'm not the only one who evaluates my options: (a) play the "go to bed in your own bed" game 1 million and 8 times...or (b) "put a baby in your bed and let them sleep there so that you can function at work the next day" game.
Neither option is great, but sometimes "sleep" and "ability to function at work" win over "be a consistent Mama!"
The good news, though, is that when my husband is gone, it is HARD. Why is this good news? It means that when he's here, he helps to make it easy!! It'd be a bad sign if I said he was gone for 10 days and it was no different than when he was here, right? It's a compliment to my husband who helps to divide our parenting workload in half!!! I miss him SO MUCH and cannot wait to see him in a couple hours!!!!!