As Wife has already blogged we had a little bit of drama here on Friday night when Little Miss Swallowed a coin - she has since informed us and all and sundry that she was pretending to be a money box. A line she delivers with a deadpan face, and one that still makes me laugh (and kind of proud because it’s her first real little joke).
I wasn’t laughing when it happened though.
You see it was Friday night and I sauntered in at the usual time, looking forward to a busy but hopefully quiet and relaxing weekend at home. Little Miss was her usual exhuberant self after a day of playing with her friends at childcare.
When I got home she asked for 2 coins as she sometimes does - she wants one so she can come and visit daddy at work by taking the train, and the other is for the restaurant when we go to lunch. Now who is going to resist that as a plea?
So we give her the coins and tell her to stick them in her money box, only she puts them in her mouth. Both Wife and I tell her not too as they could get stuck in her throat and are dirty. She took them out and promised not to do it again - so off we went to run baths.
Then while Wife is changing Usurper I come back into the loungeroom to find Little Miss lieing the the ground sobbing and calling for “Daddy!”. I head over thinking she has bumped her head or something only to be told she has a coin stuck in her throat as she swallowed it.
So I scoop her up, look down her throat and see nothing, call out for Wife and start looking Little Miss over. She is crying and talking, her color is ok, all are good signs because it shows she is still getting oxygen.
I tell Wife what has happened while I carry Little Miss up and down the hallway in my arms trying to calm her and try to work out if she has swallowed it completely, or if it is lodged somewhere. While I am doing this Wife calls the Kids nursing helpline (they are pretty good when you want some advice), while I ascertain that it is indeed stuck in her throat.
As I am trying to calm Little Miss she sobs a phrase that I never thought I would hear, and one I hope I never, ever hear again from either of our children:
“I’m going to die, I’m scared, Daddy, I’m scared, I don’t want to die” repeated over and over as she doesn’t so much as hold onto me as we pace back and forth, more that she clings to me and squeezes me, seeking some kind of physical reassurance that she will be fine. So I am doing my best to reassure her, while holding her near and tight and trying to sound calm and relaxed myself.
We get instructions from the kidsline - which amount to take her too emergency, if her breathing becomes laboured or if she starts to drool badly call an ambulance.
I bundle her into the car and take off. The drive was not something I would recommend having to do. I spent every minute of it talking to her, reassurring her and trying to convince her that she would be fine. Telling her how long we had to go, reminding her of how the hospital was so good with her eye. All I got in return was sobbing about dieing, or having her neck cut off, or how much it hurt etc.
Now I will admit I know how much this must have hurt Little Miss. I have had a blockage where I could not swallow properly, or at all. Firstly your chest tightens and begins to hurt, breathing becomes more laboured, you fear having to try and swallow because it is painful and you really think that you are in serious trouble. Now bear in mind that I am 40 and I knew what was going on, Little Miss is 3 years, 9 months, has no frame of reference, and is convinced she is going to die (I don’t know where she learnt about dieing, one of her friends at daycare’s father is deceased so I am guessing from there, but all I could hope is that she didn’t fully comprehend what it may have meant).
About 15 mins into the drive the sobbing began to die down, which at first I thought was a good thing. Then I looked into the rear view mirror for about the 3000th time to note that Little Miss was holding her mouth funny and drool was coming out one corner. I knew that look from the mirror - it meant that the blockage was so servere that basically her mouth was filling with saliva.
So I grabbed the mobile (yes I had the ear piece in so I wasn’t driving while holding it - but I will admit to doing exactly 25kms an hour over the speed limit the whole way down, which is as fast as you can go without losing your licence), and hit the last 0 in the emergency number (000 in Australia - I had dialled the first 2 zeroes as I backed out of the drive way).
I got through after a couple of rings and asked for an ambulance. I then explained the situation and found out it would be about 7 - 10 minutes before and ambulance got to me. My estimate was that at my current speed and from where I was I was about 5-7 minutes from the hospital, so I didn’t pull over I just kept driving. At the same time giving Little Miss some tissues and telling her it was fine to let the saliva fall out of her mouth, and watching her in the rearview mirror as much as was safe.
I have never been more relieved in my entire life than I was when I pulled into the emergency carpark. I was lucky and got a spot right out the front, and even as I grabbed Little Miss out of the car I could see some ambulance officers not more than 30 meters away. It was just such a relief to know that if something horrible happened the most qualified people would be there to deal with it before I would even have time to finish a sentence.
But as her color was still good and her breathing was fine (although a little laboured due to a mouth full of fluid) I just carried her into the Emergency Room in my arms. I only stopped for one second to almost tip her half up to force the mouth full of saliva to empty into her tissues.
Luckily when we got there one of the triage nurses was free and saw Little Miss instantly. She sat there quietly while she was hooked up to a machine to check her blood oxygen levels etc. While I explained what had happened. After a few minutes the nurse told me that even though it was obvious she was in some discomfort that her oxygen levels were near to perfect. Now all we had to do was wait our turn to see the doctors - but I was to monitor her and come see them again if there was any change.
Off to the waiting room - surrounded by the usual Friday night crowd of work injuries, drunks who had cut themselves, kids who have been in fights, sprained ankles, nausea patients, and those with chest pains. Of course we managed to get the seat between the corrections officer and the prisoner who was having a sizzy spells. Not sure why there was a vacant seat between them. But she seemed like a nice enough lady for a prisoner, and even grabbed me a childrens book to read Little Miss from the pile.
Anyway with our arrival at the hospital and me tipping the saliva out of Little Miss’ mouth she seemed to calm a little. I think in her mind she knew if she was in a hospital she was safe. So safe in fact that she drifted off to sleep in my arms. I discovered if I angeled her just the right way all the drool ran down my shirt and not her throat while at the same time I could feel for each breathe to occur (which I did for the next 4 hours - until the danger was removed).
After an hour or so Little Miss sat bolt upright from her sleep, spluttered a bit, gasped for air and then started to sob. That was enough for me, back up to see the nurse. Oxygen etc was checked again, and was still fine. But there was some concern that the coin could move or something. So an x-ray was arranged for (sight unseen by the doctor, but was done so it would be ready when the doctor could see her), and she was given a panadol suppository - both for the pain and I am guessing to calm her a little as well.
Then back to the waiting room for a little bit. But Little Miss wasn’t settling again so we spent the time wandering back and forth with her in my arms - every now and again heading to a toilet to tip her upside down and drain some of the saliva out that she was refusing to spit out. Spitting things out (and blowing her nose) seems to have replaced using strange toilets as her latest phobias.
After a while we got taken into the emergency rooms themselves and assigned a bed. Then the nurses came and did some more checks while we waited for either the x-ray or the doctor, whichever came first. Now I know a lot of people complain about the wait, but in the 5 beds around us we had 1 cardiac arrest who had been resuscitated, 1 car accident victim with broken collar and check bones, 2 people that didn’t stir the whole time we were there, and a diabetic who had taken a turn and arrived in an ambulance - so it was a busy night you might say.
So there we sat, Little Miss in my arms, rocking back and forth trying to calm her down when all of a sudden Little Miss threw up on herself, myself and the floor. Which was disgusting, but also a great site, because there on the floor was her new lucky 5 cent coin. As can happen when you can’t swallow eventually you will regurgitate in an attempt to clear the blockage - and boy did she!
As soon as she was cleaned up and the coin was out Little Miss decided she didn’t understand what all the fuss was about. She started to read all the bed number (we were number 16), hop and skip around the bed, ask loud questions about those around her and what was happeneing and why they were here.
But we couldn’t leave without our xray - Little Miss was thrilled that someone had taken a picture of her bones and that she had seen them. Or without seeing the doctor for a final all clear. But once that was done we jumped in the car and headed home. Little Miss happily chatting away in the back. Telling me it was just an ‘accident’ and how she had been scared a little but was ok now, and promising never to put coins in her mouth again - personally I give her until next Friday night before she does it again, or something similar.
So that was Friday night. I will admit it scared me to death. I never thought the worst was going to happen, but I couldn’t completely shake the fear that it could. But all is good now - everyone is quietly asleep in their beds for once, and I am about to join them. I just hope I never have to try and convince my daughter that she isn’t going to die again, because that can really put a dampner on your night.
I’m off to sneak in on all three of my girls rooms now for a final check and peck on the cheek - all are safe, I’m sure.