I REALLY try not to whine (too much) on this blog. But I just can't keep the whining to myself; it must spill somewhere... Today it's going to be here.
Last week the following broke: my dish washer, my garbage disposal, my toilet, my lawn mower, my truck, and my computer. Lorianne has been sick and in and out of the hospital. She also lost her cell phone. All my fishies but one has died this week. My gym closed its doors this week. Last week was the 5 year anniversary of mom's death. We are taking my hospital up on a brand new all inclusive computer program, and the time and energy, and training, and learning, and implementing of that... owns my soul right now.
On Saturday Nick and I decided to take the girls up the coast. We wanted to go get pumpkins, and there are some great pumpkin farms out there. We decided to drive PAST all of the pumpkin farm between Santa Cruz and Half Moon Bay, so we could really scout them all out, and pick the VERY BEST one to go to on our way back. We found the one, decided to continue on to Half Moon Bay for lunch, and then return to the chosen pumpkin farm. Sounds bueno. Still does, actually.
Lunch was lovely, and we were having a grand ol time. We pulled up to the VERY BEST pumpkin farm, which also had a corn maze, and we drove our truck to the VERY top of the VERY tall hill where there was a little bit of parking left. We opened the doors, ready to fling ourselves into the fall season and colors.... and... and... Natalie screams bloody Fn murder, and I look down, she is not even OUT of the truck yet, and a bee has landed and stung her. Oh no. No really. OH NO. This would be the only one of my children who is allergic to bees. Not a little swelling that will go down with benadryl and ice, noooooooo... this is my child who goes into anaphalactic shock. FML.
I'm trying to calm her down, and at the same time, tell Nick that her epi-pen is in the center console. Get it. NOW. He gets it, opens it, hands it to me. But I'm shaking too much. I can't do it. I hand it back to him and give him THAT look. Then Lulu, calm as ever, tells him step by step to take the lid off, twist that one thing, then jam it into Nat's thigh while pressing the trigger, and then hold it there for at least 10 seconds. And he does. Nat screams louder. <--to be expected, I guess.
Less than a minute has passed. We load back up into the truck, and barrel down the hill. We stop briefly two talk to TWO separate security guys/parking attendants who don't live in the area, and don't know where the closest hospital is. Nick says, "Santa Cruz or North?" It'd take at least an hour to get back to Santa Cruz. So we turn North.
I grab my cell and call 911, figuring... *hoping* they can tell me where to go. They want a cross street. I don't have one. Well where are we? Heading north. That's all I know. Yes she is breathing. Yes her arm is swelling, yes her throat is starting to feel tight. 911 tells me to pull over. PULL OVER. They are coming. They will come to us. They will find us. Until.... a CHP (sheriff? idk...) comes up behind us and says we can't be there. Nick fills him in quickly, and then, like following the wind, we are now being escorted by the police to the closest CDF station, which has an ambulance. 2 miles later, we swing in, Nick swings out with Nat in arms, Mr police man at his side, and is met instantly by the (best looking :) ) firemen, who begin assessing. They give her another shot of epi (and maybe something else?), start an IV line, load her up in the ambulance and schlep her 'more' north.