Cough, cough, Oouack! A projectile of puke flew onto me at exactly 7.30pm, just as we were about to open the car door to step out for dinner. This as she chewed on a piece of shredded wheat. My dearest husband goes, “Oh no! The car!” as I am suddenly thrown into Worryland wondering what is up with T.
“Well, we cant go for dinner with you dressed like that! Might as well go home and get changed first”, the Hubs said while I struggled to clean his car and myself with some wet wipes. The whole 10 minute journey home was spent trying not to get any puke smeared further whilst T sat on my lap, me still in Worryland.
We rushed to the bathroom, both T and I, and stripped naked to have a quick shower whilst the Hubs quickly took our soiled clothes for soaking. When the Hubs was getting T dressed, out came another projectile of lumpy off-white puke onto our bed. The Hubs reaction must’ve been so gripping (him and his clean white sheets) that it set T off into a crying frenzy and she screamed out for MAaaaMmmeeee!!! who was still in the shower. And then because she was screaming, the Hubs got even more anxious that T would puke again, so all this while kept telling her to ‘STOP CRYING’.
Well, of course it didn’t work (surprise, surprise). I jumped out of the shower, grabbed her from him and held her tight. Told her everything was OK and that she could puke all she wanted on Mummy. She sobbed uncontrollably and said she wanted to see a Doctor. What? T who has been hospitalised before and hated Doctors, wanted to see a Doctor? This must be serious. Got the Hubs to wipe me dry and dress me whilst I continued to comfort T before rushing off to see a Doctor.
Puke splattered again onto the hospital waiting room floor. There goes my pants. Poor T. I could tell she was feeling very miserable. By the time the Doctor sent us home, we had still not had dinner at 10pm. By this time, the Hubs was losing focus from lack of food and started whinging that he needed to eat (i.e. he couldn’t be on stand by anymore to clean up more puke). I asked him what he’d do if he was in Ethopia. He looked at me. Grunted, then said he had no plans on being in Ethopia and left it at that. My point is….here his daughter was suffering and all he could think of was food for himself!
To cut a long story short, after 7 series of vomiting that evening, our ordeal ended at midnight. She cried all night as the medicine the Doctor gave her was with instructions not to drink for an hour. However, T insisted on drinking but of course as soon as we gave her a sip, everything came out again.
On a positive note, I was dressed perfectly for a midnight fancy dress party. In puke.