So in that same vein of my car having an invisible bullseye painted on it. Or maybe it is just karma.
My son came home for Thanksgiving awhile back…you know, awhile back, like at Thanksgiving. And because at no time could we as a family do anything without a little drama, he was sick.
Sick as in throwing up the whole plane ride back kind of sick. Dehydrated and talking out of his head kind of sick. So sick the stewardesses had the paramedics meet him at the gate kind of sick.
And where was I, you ask? I was at baggage claim waiting on him with no earthly idea that my son was at the gate vomiting into a vomit bag and being persuaded by the paramedics to take him to the hospital.
The airport authority calls my house because if my son is coming home on a plane, obviously I would be home. My husband, thankfully, was home and called me, who was at the airport.
And here is where I apologize profusely to anyone who had been waiting in that long line at the Delta counter as I busted my way to the front to demand a security pass so I could get to my son on the other side of the neutral zone.
And here is where I apologize profusely to the elderly couple at the security gate slowly taking off their shoes, jewelry, and the seven hundred other personal items they decided to take on the plane that day. I grabbed a tub, threw shoes, keys, wallet (because I refuse to carry a purse!), and phone into the tub and slam dunked it onto the conveyor belt.
And this is where I apologize profusely to the TSA agent who just had to get a band-aid for the must have been howlingly painful paper cut she had received just that second.
And then I ran fourteen gates.
Why did I morph into Crazy Mom From Hell? Because my son is diabetic and “talking out of his head” is code for “very scary sick.” The paramedics tested his blood sugar. It was 539. Normal is below 150 or 120 or 100 depending on which endocrinologist you ask. Bottom line, my son was nowhere near normal. And he was dehydrated which was making it worse.
I did not, however, have them take him to the hospital. He needed fluids and insulin, things I could give him without the need for a hospital stay. As a veteran mom of a diabetic kid – I should probably say adult now as he is in college – I have been through this a time or two.
I got him to my car and drove him home. A day later he was back to his usual self.
I just really wish he had used the vomit bag while in the car.