PSA #3: Poison Control and Managing Panic

Do you have the phone number for Poison Control in an easy-to-access place? 

This number? 1-800-222-1222

In the past few years, I've had to call poison control three times, the most recent being last Saturday, and I am thankful that I had the number easily accessible, in the form of a magnet on the refrigerator.

*Reader Tip: Also add it to your contacts in your cell phone. (Thanks, H.T.!)

The first time I called because Connor thought it would be a good idea to guzzle blue raspberry-scented bubble solution like he was doing keg stands at some kid frat party. Since bubbles are basically just soap, I figured it was fine but was concerned about what was used to make the bubbles smell good. Poison Control said that this wasn't a big deal. So aside from a blue mouth, there were no effects from that asshattery.

The second time, either Connor or Brandon thought that eating hydrocortisone cream was a brilliant thing to do. (Who does that? My kid...) Poison Control also said this was no big deal, especially since he didn't consume an entire tube, maybe 1/4 of an ounce or so. And that some diarrhea might follow.

This third time, I found Brandon sitting next to an open baggie of adult ibuprofen tablets that he lifted out of his dad's work bag that was sitting on our kitchen counter. Did you just cringe or gasp? Yeah... 

I did my best to get out of a two-year-old, who thinks it's all fun and games, what he did with the pills, but the exact same question asked twice received different answers. "Did you put these in your mouth?" "Yesh." [big smile] "Did you put these in your mouth?" "No." [giggle giggle] "Did you swallow the pills?" "Yesh." [giggle giggle] "Did you swallow the pills? "No." 

Damn it. Damn two-year-olds.

While trying to tamper down my panic (I kept reminding myself that I needed to think, not flip out) eventually it dawned on me to go wake up Nate (he's not lazy like me; he works late shifts) and ask him if he knew how many were originally in the bag. He didn't know exactly, but determined that there had been, at most, just a few more. We decided that Brandon probably had eaten no more than 3 pills, if he had actually eaten any at all. 

I looked at how many mgs are in Brandon's dose of children's ibuprofen (100), and compared to the potentially 600 that he may have eaten, decided to call Poison Control.

Thankfully, after asking his age and weight, they said that I shouldn't be concerned unless he had taken 15 or more pills, which there's no way he got that many. They said he might experience some stomach upset and to make sure that he eats or drinks to "pad" his stomach.

There's not much that makes me feel like a shittier parent than having to call Poison Control. Even though I was literally right there with each kid each time they pulled their nonsense, they are so freaking fast, and I always feel like the person on the other end of the line is thinking, "Jesus, is this "mom" drunk? WHO LETS THEIR KID AROUND EFFIING IBUPROFEN TABLETS/EAT HYDROCORTISONE CREAM/DRINK BUBBLES?"

Even though each time, the person on the other end of the line has always been extremely nice and sounds completely without judgment.

So put that number in a handy place, you really never know when you might need it. 

1-800-222-1222

Also, when in moments of extreme stress, constantly remind yourself to think. Remind yourself that your kid needs you to think and needs you to take action. By constantly telling yourself that, it forces you to focus on thinking about what to do, instead of losing your mind to panic. The second you start to feel your focus slipping and the helplessness set in, remind yourself to think.

Trust me, it works. When Brandon was a baby, about 8 or 9 months old, I had been holding him for about five minutes when he suddenly started doing these convulsive gags and stopped breathing. My first impression was that he was choking, but I had been holding him for the previous five minutes and he had put nothing in his mouth. While I was trying to figure out what was wrong with him and what to do, he was turning grayish blue. It was clear that my baby's life was in extreme danger, and I was on the verge of flipping out but kept reminding myself to think about my options, to think about what to do. After each option as to what could be wrong with him was rapidly considered and discarded in my mind (Virus? Seizure?), as the hopelessness built, I just kept reminding myself to keep thinking or he was going to die. 

I wanted to call 9-1-1 but my instincts told me that to take the time to do that would be fatal because help wouldn't get there in time. He needed me to do something right now, but I still needed to get help on the way. Even though I hadn't seen Brandon put anything in his mouth, I flipped him over on his belly so that my hand was pushing into his diaphragm, angled his body head-down, and started whacking him on his back, all while yelling at Ethan to go wake up Daddy. As Ethan ran down the hall, Brandon started throwing up, and the vomit was mixed with blood. Nate came out of the bedroom and I was starting to tell him to call 9-1-1 when a jagged chunk of plastic that had broken off of a cheap toy came out with some vomit and Brandon started breathing again.

Hole. E. Shit.

Brandon had kept that piece of crap in his mouth for over five minutes, then suddenly decided to swallow it and nearly choke to death. And cut up his throat, too.

So, the bottom line: Remind yourself to focus and to take action. Over and over until the situation is resolved. It may seem like reminding yourself over and over would be distracting but it's not; it's focusing. Just keep swimming thinking. 

And then when all is well again, drink some wine or take a shot to calm the massive post-adrenaline-rush shaking.

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