Perhaps one of the hardest things a parent would endure is to see his or her child in danger. All the while, the Congressman & I seemed to have below average parenting skills (the Congressman once gave Robyn beer so she'd never think of drinking beer when she reaches her teen years-- so far she gives this repulsive look at every beer bottle she sees). But that incident on the very first day of 2009 will forever be etched in our parenting CV.
Robyn developed low grade fever in the afternoon of December 31. I felt bad for her since we cannot bring her out to see the lights from the fireworks. Anyway, Robyn's what we can call a "low-maintenance kid," something that we later realize, we took advantage of. Tired from the night before's new year celebration, we were all sound asleep when I woke up to the sound of Robyn vomiting. Usually, I get irritated whenever she vomits since it would mean changing our bed sheet again. When I turned on the lights, I was shocked to see my daughter gurgling in her own vomit, her body racking with convulsions. At an instant, everything became a blur to me. I later realized that I was probably in shock for a good 10 seconds or something. Then I zapped back to reality seeing my husband crying while carrying our daughter's unconscious body downstairs.
It was the first time I experienced real emergency--the last thing I remembered considering emergency was when the alginate I was mixing was turning from violet to white, faster than I expected. My mind was spinning on what to do first: grab a bag, turn off aircon, put on a bra (for Pete's sake!), lock the door! All seemed to happen in an automatic, sort of robotic way.
The drive to the hospital seemed hours for me. I was trying to wake Robyn, trying to get any response from her, that she's still OK. At that time, I wanted to cry but the Congressman beat me into crying first so I guess someone's got to have 2 good eyes to look at the road for the nearest hospital. I was scared for my daughter and scare for the Congressman too. It was the first time I saw him that vulnerable: sobbing, driving and cursing, all at the same time. In 5 minutes, we were in the nearest ER, not our choice of hospital, but we thought if we bring her all the way to Medical City, it might be too late. Robyn looked that scary.
At the ER, Robyn was stripped off her clothes and was given oxygen and cold sponge bath in seconds. The doctor in duty told me that we had to bring down her fever and stop the convulsions first. It dawned to me that Robyn was conscious, contrary to what I thought earlier, but she was having convulsions due to high fever and was in no way to respond to me. As I helped the nurses bring down her fever, I was still trying to make her look at me, to get any form of response will do. I found my self singing one of Robyn's favorite songs, the "I Love You" song--that of Barney, even if I secretly hate Barney and his punga voice. Soon, to my wonder and delight, Robyn sang with me in a loud booming voice. Hay, I suddenly love Barney.
Fast forward. We eventually transferred to Medical City when Robyn was stable enough to be transported. She was diagnosed to have had benign febrile convulsions and had to stay in the hospital until she's fever-free for 24 hours. Normally, the Congressman would be really bummed being in the hospital for 4 straight days and missing the left-over ham that we usually have for breakfast the morning of January 1. But he later told me that he could not bear not be with Robyn after that incident.
What happened to Robyn may be just a simple case of high fever. But that incident taught us a lot of things. It took us 5 days before we were able to talk about what happened. Also, that was the only time I got to cry-- I wanted to cry the moment I say Robyn in such a sorry state but for some reason I couldn't. As the Congressman and I recall that morning, we realized the feeling that you'd lose your child in a split second. I was grateful that I woke up to see Robyn vomiting, should I have slept soundly and woke hours later, it would have been a different story. The Congressman claimed he never sobbed that hard in his life. I ribbed him for crying like a baby, he laughed at me for almost running outside with just a bra for my top. To summarize, we cried, laughed, cried again at the same time. Crazy.
But one important lesson the incident taught us, it made us appreciate our daughter a thousand times more. Never will we underestimate a fever ever again. And whatever ruckus Robyn would cause in a day, no matter how many times she wets our bed in a week--she'd always be an angel to me. Hay, it dawned to me that, seriously, I AM A PARENT---it sucks, but seeing my daughter makes it all worth it.
Robyn obviously irritated with her Robocop hand
