Andy and I have a lot of stuff. I’ve mentioned before that we’ve brought numerous items to Zihua on the plane, and that was after we shipped just about everything we owned on a container from San Francisco. Because we are no longer in a position (physically or financially) to replace our stuff, we’ve developed procedures and routines to protect it all. We have ADT Security, we have security cameras that have worked on and off over the years, we have motion detectors, we have locks on all the doors and windows, we have spikes on the wall out front and razor wire on the wall next to the formerly empty lot. We have “lock-down” routines we follow whenever we go out, to make sure the house is secure. It’s all the normal stuff that people do to keep their house and things safe in any city. It also goes without saying that all these efforts at protecting our stuff are meaningless in comparison to the safety of Trinity. However, it’s not that often one gets the opportunity to prove that point.
We had the unfortunate “opportunity” a couple of months ago. We were quietly making our way through the bedtime routine with Trinity when my world was briefly turned upside-down. I reflect back and realize that there were a few indicators which, taken together, should have warned me that Trinity wasn’t feeling well. She refused dinner, which isn’t always surprising. She spit up the one spoonful of yogurt I managed to get her to eat, which also was not unusual. She lost her balance a few times in the bathtub, but I figured it was because we had been swimming in a pool the previous day, and perhaps she had some water in her ear. Then she felt really hot when I put her pajamas on, so I tried to give her some Tylenol and she refused the second dropper-full. That’s not particularly unusual in itself, so we decided to wait a few minutes to get the rest of the dose down her. It was only a few moments after that that she started convulsing. She was having a febrile seizure, a seizure as a result of a really high fever that spiked quickly. We now know that this is something that sometimes happens to small children. It doesn’t make us feel any better to know that, and at the time it was happening I thought she was going to die.
I have always thought of myself as someone who could keep their head together in an emergency. Maybe it’s true, and to give myself and Andy some credit, in less than five minutes after the seizure started, Trinity was with a doctor. But as soon as the seizure started, I felt like my brain disconnected from my body. I started first looking for the number for Red Cross to get an ambulance here, and then quickly realized I wasn’t reading the numbers. Then I tried to call the “tourist” doctor, because I figured my Spanish would fail me, and I couldn’t find his number in my Palm (it was actually programmed into my cell phone). That’s when Andy and I decided to just hop in the car and drive to the hospital immediately. Luckily Andy reminded me to put some clothes on (my nursing bra and undies cover more than a bikini, but it still would have been inappropriate). I ran out of the upstairs living room without even closing the door, much less locking it. I grabbed my phone and the Palm, and ran to the car. We were heading to the hospital when we realized that Red Cross was only 3 blocks from our house and we would be passing it on the way to the hospital. I pulled into the driveway at Red Cross and yelled out the window in Spanish, “Help me, my baby cannot breathe!” As it turned out, Trinity was breathing, but Andy was too busy struggling against her convulsions to keep me posted on what he thought was going on.
The Red Cross facilities are frighteningly bare, but they did what needed to be done to reduce Trinity’s fever. They put cool cloths on her head and tummy, and fairly quickly after that the fever started coming down. Andy ran out and purchased some medicines they prescribed, one of which was a fever reducer, and they took effect pretty quickly. Then they said Trinity needed to be in a warm bath. They filled a large paint bucket with water and stuck her in it. Andy carefully poured water on her with a kidney dish while I ran back home to get a towel, a diaper, and some money. In my panic while the doctors were examining Trinity, I had called Rai and told her I needed her. I realized that we really didn’t need her at the Red Cross, so I asked her to meet us at the house. I guess I just needed that calming element of Rai’s friendship to contrast the chaos in my brain. I returned to Red Cross to hear Trinity kicking up a fuss. Apparently she didn’t like the paint-bucket bath, but the fact that she was protesting made me heave a sigh of relief. As the doctors had said all along, she was going to be fine, although I didn’t believe them until I heard her being normal again.
We took Trinity home and gave her another bath, in the bathtub this time. She was playing with the water coming out of the faucet and gave us a big smile and giggle as the water splashed. At that point we all knew that she’d be fine, and we even managed to get her medicine down her. That night she slept, well, like a baby, although Andy and I spent the whole night poking her to make sure she was still breathing.
Rai reported that when she arrived at the house, the upstairs door was open with the a/c running on high. The downstairs door was closed and locked, but the back doors were all open, as were some of the windows. I honestly believe that was the most open the house had ever been with no one home. But as I mentioned, we left in a panic, the only thought on our minds being the health of Trinity. So we may seem a bit uptight with all our security efforts on a normal day, but I assure you, Andy and I have our priorities in the right place. We know the difference between what is valuable and what is priceless.
