On top of spaghetti,
All covered with cheese,
I lost my poor meatball,
When somebody sneezed.

The babies like a new song when I change their diapers. They grew tired of the old ones but they love this one. I tend to sing it loud and slightly off-key: On top of spa-GHE-tiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii....all covered with CHEESE.........

Last night Nora took a turn for the worse. She wouldn't drink, wouldn't eat, and just wasn't herself, which I know is a stupid thing to say, like that stupid response to "how do you know you're in love?", the "you just know" drill. She was no better this morning so she and I went back to the doctor. The doctor - this time a middle-aged woman with very kind eyes - decided Nora needed to be seen in our local hospital, which is the one that Nora was born in 5 months ago. Nora was dehydrated, she pronounced. Nora wasn't well. The doctor rang ahead to tell them we were coming.

Nora and I raced to the hospital, me feeling very panicky. She sat in her car seat, not making a sound. When I checked us into the pediatric A&E they took us straight to a curtained-off bed.

Nora and I were told to try the "dialoryte challenge", which I joked was like the Pepsi challenge only with fewer fringe benefits. I had to pump Nora with 5mL of electrolye solution every 5 minutes using a syringe. She hated it. I hated it for her. If we didn't succeed, she would be admitted and put on IVs.

We took on their challenge because her being admitted with an IV is the worse case scenario for both of us. I rocked Nora in my arms between the 5 minute battles. The boy behind the curtain to our right was very ill, and in a great deal of pain. A girl with a broken arm was on our left. Behind every curtain was a mother and her child, administering recommended doses of reassurance. Machines whirred and went off, startling her. Nora couldn't stand the tiny blood pressure cuff going on to her leg. She was weighed, and naturally she's lost weight and fallen back down the percentiles.

They left us alone to try to get the feedings down. We worked out a method whereby I would practically hold her tongue down and force the liquid down her throat. As soon as she got it down I'd hold her close to me, where she'd whimper against my chest.

The ill boy next to us had many people round him, and many machines beeping various warnings and Nora started to get upset at the commotion. I rocked her back and forth on my chest, walking beside the length of the bed. "On top of spaghetti," I sang in a low voice next to her ear. "All covered with cheese..." She calmed down and sighed, her head in the crook of my chest.

A nurse was standing by our curtain, watching us. "You two are so lovely together. She's such a beautiful baby."

Nora whimpered.

I smiled, and wondered if I looked as exhausted as I was feeling. "Thank you very much," I replied. I kept singing. I spent the morning in A&E holding her and singing to her in between the feedings. It was one of those moments when I really felt that I was a mother, complete with the shoulder covered in vomit and smell of Johnson's baby lotion wafting off her noggin.

We're home now, armed witjh instructions on what to do and if/when we need to go back. Both of us are completely exhausted. I have to force Nora to take 5mL of liquid every 10 minutes now for the rest of the day, which is hard on her. It's hard on me, too, because I hate seeing her like this.

It rolled off the table,
And on to the floor,
And then my poor meatball,
Rolled out of the door.

-H.

Posted by: Everydaystranger at 02:35 PM | Comments (18) | Add Comment
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