the knife twists

In the last five days our lives have turned upside down. On Saturday morning Grace overdosed on Children's tylenol. Tylenol that I left out. Friday evening she developed a fever, and early Saturday morning she was burning up. At five am, I gave her a teaspoon dose of tylenol to help the fever break and allow her to get some rest. I was very tired myself. I didn't return the tylenol to the medicine cabinet after giving her the dose. I left it on the counter.

At 10:10 am I told Grace that I was going to give her a steamy bath to break up her congestion. She started up the stairs without me, telling me over her shoulder as she ascended the stairs "I'll go up by myself." I was in the midst of some discussion with Craig, so I didn't pay too much attention. Minutes later, she called to me from the top of the stairs "Mommy, I took my medicine."

"What? Grace, how much medicine did you take, how much, how much?"

"Three cups."

"How much was in the cup?"

"It was full, mommy."

"No, no, no, no. CRAIG, come now, COME NOW!"

I wish I could say that the rest is a blur. Maybe I could sleep better then. In reality the hospital scene where they told us her blood level was critical is emblazoned in my memory. So is administering the charcoal, while Craig and I held her down and she cried for us to stop, telling us that we were hurting her. As she was begging, tears were streaming down our faces. I wanted to scream. I wanted to run. I wanted those moments to not be happening. And all the while a knife was twisting inside my heart.

I left it out. She wouldn't have taken it if I had put it away.

There are other scenes too. The ER doc saying, "Tylenol is a terrible, terrible drug. I hate it." The knife twists again, and my mind screams "I know, and I did this. How am I going to live with this."

Seven hours and two blood tests later, they finally released her. The level of tylenol was going down in her blood. A good sign. We would need to meet with her pediatrician on Monday. At that point we would know whether or not permanent damage had been done to her liver and kidneys.

Permanent damage. Just writing those two words pains me.

Nine am Monday we were seated in her pediatrician's office, hoping for good news.

Our hopes and prayers were answered. Given her dose, she was not in any danger of hepatic damage. They didn't even need to re-do her bloodwork. She was going to be fine. The pediatrician said "She's perfect. What I'm worried about is the two of you. This was nobody's fault. This is going to eat you up inside. You can't let that happen. It's bad for you. It's bad for your marriage."

I wanted to cry, again, for the thousandth time. I told the doctor "but it was my fault. I left it out." He replied "It was a terrible accident, and no one is at fault."

I hope I believe his words someday.

As for Grace, she is back to her spunky self. Not surprisingly, I, on the other hand, have come down with her cold. As my fever spiked to 103 degrees last night, I couldn't help but feel very, very sorry for myself. Pity and guilt are not the best remedy, believe me.