A guest post by daughter, Caitlin.
|In better health...|
Back in October 2006, I was pregnant with my oldest daughter.
Aside from the morning sickness that would hit any time it liked, it was a good pregnancy.
During this time, I would sometimes hop the bus to the mall and peruse for some clothing that would fit my altering figure.
And occasionally find something for my hubby or the babby-to-come.
One time, I went into a maternity store, but the only thing that caught my eye was a little stuffed dog toy. I bought it, thinking the new baby would (eventually) like to play with it. I paid for it, popped it in my bag and forgot about it.
I would remember it later . . .
Around that time, I was working women's clothing retail. It was my job to get the deliveries unwrapped and properly hung for display. I loved it, because it meant I didn't have to interact with people as much as the other ladies.
Ahem . . .
Also around that time, a rather nasty bug was making its merry way through everybody who worked there. It was a short-lived stomach flu, but it was still nasty.
Now, at the best of times, I dislike being sick. But I was about 5 months pregnant then, so I didn't have just me to worry about! The other ladies were very conscientious about my condition, but the bug wasn't.
I knew I had caught the flu when my hubby and I went to bed, and I couldn't control my nausea. Normally, I'd get a swift bout and I'd either run to the bathroom, or it would settle on its own. This night, after I ran to the bathroom for the third time, my sweetie got me a bucket to keep by the bed. By 3 am, I hadn't slept a wink, and I was starting to bring up food I hadn't even eaten yet.
Hubby bundled me into a jacket, and, bucket to hand, got me onto the next bus heading to the hospital.
We made it to the emergency, and when they found out I was pregnant and bringing up last week's meals, they tried very hard to get me in quickly.
Now, this was a hospital emergency ward. There were several other just-as-imperative cases there, including at least one car accident which I found out about after I'd been ushered into a cubicle and hooked up to an IV to combat my dehydration. They'd given me some Gravol to help with the nausea, and both hubby and I had managed to snooze a bit.
Around 5 am, they took me in for an ultrasound to make sure the baby was okay. (It was) and when they wheeled me back, I noticed a little boy in tears in the emergency cubicle across from ours.
His was the family that had been in the car accident. He was fine, but both his parents were immobilized, pending further tests to ensure no damages to . . . well, anything.
All that little boy knew was that he couldn't sit with Mommy or Daddy, and he didn't know anybody there. The nurses tried to keep him occupied, but judging by the tears, they weren't succeeding.
That's when I remembered the little stuffed dog in my bag.
I pulled it out and told hubby to give it to the nurse to give to the little boy.
Since the crying stopped soon after that, I think my tactic worked.
I was judged well enough to leave around 6 am, and we packed up our few things to get ready to go. I happened to glance into the main area where the nurse's desk was, and saw the little boy laughing with one of the nurses. She was stuffing the little dog into a vaccuum tube and sending it zipping up and down the vaccuum chute in the emergency ward. Every time it popped back down, the little boy would giggle so cutely I couldn't help but smile. We left to the sound of giggles, and that's when I knew why that little dog had caught my eye.
It's been eight years, and I would love to know what happened to that little boy and his parents.
Sometimes, we're moved upon to do things that we wouldn't ordinarily do.
Like me buying stuff.
Not even I can say that with a straight face . . .