I'm tired so I'll be brief. Poor Elias was stung on the tongue today by a big horrible wasp. He was sitting on the terrace, happily eating an apple. I was about two feet away from him, working on this birdfeeder project for Isaac's school. Then Elias started screaming. I saw the wasp and began to search the baby everywhere for the sting. His mouth was wide open with the screams and so soon I located the sting, right on the tip of his tongue. There was a small puncture there that was bleeding a little bit, and it was starting to swell. (Apparently the wasp wanted to eat the same apple at the same time…)
Now I've recently had occasion to read up on stinging insects and one thing that I recalled was that even in a non-allergic person, stings to the mouth and nose are medically dangerous because swelling can block the airway. I really didn't know what to do– my standard approach to stings these days is baking soda and water paste or slurry, which seems to work better than anything else I've tried. But I couldn't really put that in his mouth, nor sting-eaze or these other things like that. I got an ice pack and tried to press it into the squalling little mouth to get the swelling down, then rushed upstairs for some reason. I wanted to call nurse on call and also to get the baby cleaned up to take him to the hospital. Honestly!! What was I thinking? His little shirt was much filthier than usual (he goes through several outfits a day, usually) and his diapers had just then become filled with poop. But once I had him on the changing table, I realized that this was ridiculous. No time for fashion. He was screaming such that his whole face and chest were mottled red and his breathing very ragged. He seemed to be gagging on — what? apple bits? spit? Or was his throat closing up? I rejected the idea of taking him to the emergency room because it's incredibly far away and complicated to get there, and what would be he doing in the backseat by himself during the drive? So I dialed nurse on call , thinking I would ask for first aid advice on this situation, but was put on muzak hold, and then listening the the $&@*(#&% recording for a few moments came to the "If you believe this to be a medical emergency, hang up and dial 911."
So I did. I looked at the baby, his tongue increasing in size by the second, his screams seeming more like gasps with gags and chokes mixed in, and called 911.
When I got the man on the line, I realized how terrified I was. I couldn't speak. "My baby—" deep breath– "my baby has been stung on the tongue by a wasp…"
It helps to know that a scant two blocks away there is the Bath police, fire, and EMT station. I pass there several times each day and have often been struck by the bright shiny newness of their row of vehicles, and their near-constant idleness. They truly are there exactly for this sort of emergency.
I carried the poopy diaper- no shirted baby downstairs and waited for them in the driveway. In a moment they rolled up. But by then the strangest thing happened. The baby stopped crying and in effect went back to normal. Instantly. It was bizarre! The transformation. The EMTs I'm sure have seen many a nervous mother in their day, but I felt sort of sheepish. There was nothing wrong with this baby! Whatsoever! (But I didn't know– better to have them here for no reason than to have the baby turn blue and limp and THEN call…)
They brought us into the ambulance and tested this and that, and sat and observed him for a while. He smelled horrible due to the poop situation, but otherwise was a) not crying; b) not gagging; c) his tongue seemed a little swollen, and his lip did too, but not epic; d) no hives; e) heart rate normal; etc. etc. etc. After several aspects of the evaluation, the lead EMT called the whole thing in to the emergency room to decide whether he needed to be transported by ambulance to Akron Children's Hospital. (Clearly not!) And soon they let us go on our way, with some cautions to watch for drolling or wheezing or ANYthing unusual at all, and to not delay whatsoever if there's a concern. They made me feel a little better by having me sign a paper that said, among other things, that if I freak out again I can call them again and they will come again. I guess this is their job.
Anyway, it was all in all ten minutes of sheer terror. I'm completely drained after it, and going to Isaac's school half an hour later to install the birdfeeder was really incongruous. But so it goes. He's asleep next to me now and seems completely unaffected by the whole thing. But me– still a bit rattled.