I’m writing this out of a desperate need for affirmation. I need to know that I’m not the only mom who has Poison Control on speed dial and who almost has the number memorized (800, then a bunch of 2s…). This is not because I’m crazy and/or paranoid, but because I call it that often.
“Hi, my son ate a wild mushroom out of our backyard. What do I do?”
“Hi, there is a weird white dust that has coated my son’s walls and probably his lungs from his humidifier. What do I do?”
“Hi, my son ate his own poop. What do I do?”
“Hi, my dog ate mouse poison. What do I do?”
I have actually made the operator say, “Huh, I have never heard that one before!” I’m not gonna lie, I felt a little pride at that one.
I knew that having two boys close in age would be exciting and exhausting…and dirty…and dangerous. There was one year we made so many E.R. trips that they considered giving us our own parking space (not really), yet we have only had one instance that required stitches and no broken bones yet. I say yet because I realize it’s inevitable.
The worst part about calling Poison Control is that sometimes they ask for my name and city, for their records. Right. For their records. When this happened twice within a matter of months I told them my name was Marge and I live in…Um…California!
My latest call came about because I found out Big Brother had taken a shot of Children’s Advil. My call went through to a dear woman in India. She assured me that I had nothing to worry about, he would be fine. Just watch him for tummy aches and don’t give him any more medication that day.
Well, he’s not even sick, I replied, and by the way, this is the second day in a row that he did this, I just now found out about it. Is he okay?
“Oh, oh oh, okay, what you need to do, is take the medication, and put it where the children can’t find it.”
Poison Control gives the best advice, you guys.
Have you had to call them recently? I can’t be the only one. Tell me about it.