If You Thought A Night Visit To The ER For Your Child Swallowing A Coin Was Bad…
My son managed to go one better.
Are you one of the many parents who have dragged the entire family down to the Accident and Emergency Unit on an evening because of a dreaded coin swallowing incident?
You know, that time of the evening when the kids have settled in bed and everything seems to be going swimmingly (for once); when one child — usually the youngest — comes running into your room with a look of shock on his or her face because that coin that they found, somehow, made it into their mouth and…bam…down the throat it went.
Yep, I have been there.
We did the old ‘drag the family down to Accident and Emergency’; hung out in the waiting room for a couple of hours while feeding the kids synthetic-flavoured soup from the vending machine, had a couple of x-rays taken, only to be told:
“she’ll poo it out.”
Arrived home at 1 am, remembering to text the school bus driver to say “don’t wait for us in the morning!”
She was the youngest at the time. That was before her little brother had arrived on earth.
They say that whatever girls do, boys will go one better
From the moment he entered this world he clearly had the full intent to outdo his sisters in any which way he could. He could count way past 200 and had read his way through most of the Oxford Reading Tree levels at the age of four.
He couldn’t beat them at games or races, so he was determined to find anything he could to get one up on them. I don’t think his choice of metal-object-to-swallow was a conscious choice, however, subconsciously there was definite intent of one-upmanship.
One day, he was out with his dad, exploring the restricted zones of Dartmoor — restricted because they are used for military practice. As boys do!
On their wanderings through a target-practice zone, they found a couple of lead bullets on the open moor and decided to take them home as souvenirs.
One Tuesday evening, I was having one of those rare occasions of going out for dinner and to the theatre — admittedly still on parental duty, for it was to watch my eldest daughter in a School’s Shakespeare performance. My sweet son, then five years old, in the apparent safe care of his dad, was lying on his bed and gazing lovingly at the 2cm-long, 6mm-wide lead bullet that he had found.
It was remarkably reminiscent of that time that his sister had been lying on her bed, admiring the 1p coin, and turning it over and over to look at how shiny it was. It was so remarkably reminiscent that, in just the same way that the coin was no longer in that little girl’s fingers, the lead bullet fell from that little boy’s hand.
I received a panicked phone call just as I was about to go into the theatre.
“You will have to take him to A&E,” I said, trying not to let my stomach reach my throat.
Thankfully, my little boy was fine.
Not so thankfully, we had to take him to the Accident and Emergency Unit not just the one night but two nights in a row, for they needed to monitor his blood, to ensure there was no poisoning from the lead. Both nights we had to wait for hours to be seen and made it out at around 2 am both times.
He also had to stay home from school because I needed to monitor his stools to ensure that he passed it, or we would need to return to the hospital again for more x-rays and blood tests.
He thought it was great, hanging out with mummy in his pyjamas all day. Meanwhile, I had to find an implement to dig through his poo each time he went to the toilet, to find this elusive bullet. Not quite as fun!
Eventually, it made it through his digestive system. It only took until Friday lunchtime. That was a lot of poos to dig through!
The wooden spoon that I nabbed from the kitchen as the dedicated poo-digging implement was promptly thrown away, which I am sure you are happy to hear. The bullet, however, I washed, disinfected, and kept as a souvenir.
You may find it gross. I don’t care. Some mementos are just too precious to chuck!
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