When we walked into the ER, I'm not even going to lie--I was nervous, petrified, expecting to see iotas of bodies on the verge of death. I slumped behind my hubby, grabbed ahold of his arm, and continued down the hall to Room 8. There was a doctor sitting at my friend's side, her head tilted down, the pain obvious. I gave her mom a hug hello, as J looked up at us. She looked awful. Poor thing! There was an IV sticking out of her arm, the monitor going, and although the lights were dim--not dim enough to anyone who knows, has, and understands migraines the way I do. I've been a sufferer for years and let me tell you, it's not fun. According to the doctor, they'd been trying different meds all day, but J's body wasn't accepting any of them. She continued having allergic reactions, her poor face a bright crimson from scratching at it. "Hey train wreck," my supportive, caring, and sensitive husband began. And I won't lie, I did crack a tiny tiny smile because the poor thing did look a bit like a train wreck.
The doctor finally left, and my husband left the room to go and call J's husband, Chiz. He was out of town caring for his sick grandma. Luckily the girls were at their friends' home and J's mom would soon be getting them. J and Chiz have two little ones--four and three and just the cutest, sweetest little girls ever. I swear, being in the ER is ridiculous. Here was my poor friend, who's head was pounding beyond belief, she was unable to even open her eyes, when every noise under the sun began. First it was the maintenance people, who just HAD to unload boxes right at her doorway--and of course, dropping them and creating more noise than is necessary. The intercom then came on with this woman's high, squeal of a voice. Next the machine, that the doctor unhooked from J, started beeping loudly and making all these loud pumping noises--hello! The doctor unhooked her from it, but never bothered turning it off. There's NOT GOING TO BE A BLOOD PRESSURE CHECK! I frantically texted Kent to get back to the room because I couldn't figure out how to turn the damn thing off. Plus, she was a bit pale and, as we know, puking and migraines go hand-in-hand, and I DON'T DO PUKING!
It was not good. Kent got the damn thing to stop beeping, but it kept going off which further upset poor J. I found some orderly in the hall and got him to find someone to do something about the noise. ERs are ridiculous! We did make our way back to J's house, got her snug like a bug, and I zoomed on back to our place to feed the dog, grab our stuff for an overnight, and stop for food. When I got back to the house, the girls welcomed me with lots of hugs. J still looked like crap, and after awhile took off to bed. Kent and I snuggled with the girls, reading them their bedtime stories and giving hugs and kisses once again.
And in the middle of the night, when CoCo woke up, I didn't hear a thing. Sorry J! Although I did finally get up--I'm a little out of practice.
In the morning, I heard their bedroom door open up and this little head peered over by the couches. "Do you want to jump in for a snuggle?" I asked the ReeseMo--she flew over to me and under the covers for a snuggle. And it made me miss the days when Fuzz and Roo were small--the way they loved snuggling on a Saturday (or Sunday) morning with me before we started our day. Pretty soon another little head peeped around the corner, but then took off to find a good hiding place--which she did because neither Mo nor I could find her. She was curled up behind the rocking chair, not making a sound--until she saw me. "Mere Mere this is a good hiding spot," she said. I gave her a hug and we were off to make breakfast.
Little CocoBoat was eating her muffin, with the pink napkin over her little legs, when she said, "Mere Mere is pink your favorite color?" It must've been my pink bag or my pink sweats or my pink computer that was giving it away. "It sure is," I replied. "I want to show you something," and with that went in search of the step stool. "I got it!" she said, lifting the stool in front of her. "Mere Mere you have to come here to see it." I headed into the kitchen where she was standing on the stool in front of one of the cabinets. "It's in there," she said pointing up to the cabinet up above. As I opened it up, she said, "I think I want a bagel with chocolate and pink for breakfast." There in front of me was a jar of pink sprinkles and a chocolate, nutella-like spread. "Would your mommy let you have this for breakfast?" "Oh yes Mere Mere," with her little head shaking back and forth. She's just too cute! As we made her chocolate, pink sprinkled bagel, J was coming down the stairs looking like death had finally passed her over. Her eyes were actually open and the pain seemed to be lifted--not entirely, but much much better. Plus she couldn't help but crack a smile as she watched her daughter pouring pink sprinkles on her bagel.
And I'd do it all again in a heartbeat because that's what friends are for. And I know my friends would do it for me, for us, in a second.
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