Shortly after the bell rang, and the Pledge of Allegiance ended, a friend came to me with ‘the look’. Her stomach felt weird. Weird like??? Weird like puke.
Yeah. Not a fan of body fluids. Especially puke. My children will tell you that I am the worst nurse in the world. They know to call their dad if body fluids are involved. (Incidentally, he made a rule that if you can drive a car, you can clean up puke soooo no calls these days.)
I asked my usual questions: Have you been to the bathroom? (hint #2) Did you have breakfast? Are you hungry? Have you had some water? Would you like a snack?
She’d been to the bathroom. She’d had breakfast. Not hungry. Not interested in water or a snack. OK. Let’s just see how the day goes.
Later, she tells me, “Sooner or later I am gonna puke.”
And then later, “It’s coming. It’s just a matter of time.”
And still later, “It’s close now.”
She wasn’t herself–she was grouchy and short with other friends. She was defiant with me. She was pale. I knew she just didn’t feel good.
Finally, “It’s real, real close now.” By this time, it’s 2:25. We have an hour of school left. She thought seeing the nurse would be for the best at this point. So I sent her. She rested for 15 minutes, returned to the room with a message from the nurse:
“Welp. Nurse Jessie says it looks like I am going to live. I don’t how she knew, but she did. So I am back!”
Good golly. I would have saved myself TONS of drama if I had sent her at 8:45 this morning for this diagnosis.
Tomorrow will be better.