So, back to the ER. There I was, mother of one, apparently overly concerned with the health and well-being of my poor, lonely, only child, and Grandma snaps.
"That's enough. We're out of here."
They had just given Norah a catheter, which was inhumanly cruel, and had come up empty. The staff's suggestion was to wait until she had to pee and do it again. This prompted me to burst into more tears. Grandma snatched the baby from me and repeated herself.
It was true. They guessed it was probably viral, which means "ride it out," and there was a slight possibility it could be a kidney infection, which is rare in babies. Of course I was fixated on the slight possibility, as that is my MO. But I knew she was right; Norah was tired, hungry, weak, her fever had gone way down, and she needed to get the hell out of there.
After more waiting, we finally got the discharge papers and left, drinking in the fresh, cold air outside the hospital.
Days later, it turns out it was a cold. She got a little booger-y and sneeze-y, but the fever broke on Sunday and she was back to tackling Daddy and chucking blocks over her shoulder. Ok. Maybe a trip to the ER was a little bit of an overreaction. But 105! The doctor even suggested we didn't take her temp properly. I don't know.
Guess it must be the first-time parent. If only I had two; I'd be so cool and collected.