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.

Grrrrrreeeeeeaaaaatttttttt.

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.

Lesson learned.

Tomorrow will be better.