Scrubs

When I was sixteen or so, my cousin Robbie came out to visit me in Tennessee. Among our many crazy antics, we went shopping at Goodwill (or Salvation Army, I can't remember which). There we found matching scrub bottoms. Some of the most comfortable pajama pants I have ever worn, and yes they are very worn (as are Robbie's, I've seen them).

So to give a little more background to the next part of the story: When Savanna was 5 weeks old, she started being more fussy than normal and inconsolable. After taking her temperature and calling the doctor, he recommended we take her to the Emergency Room (it was Saturday evening, and no chance of getting an appointment). And when small babies have temperatures that high, the doctors don't take any chances. To make a long story short, after all the testing and X-rays, they were concerned that she was a very sick kid. So they decided to keep her for at least two days to let the bacteria incubate to know if it was meningitis. And as I was still nursing (and even if I wasn't), I stayed with her.

Okay, so just as an aside, the next room had a tiny baby too, hooked up to all kinds of machines, and he never had visitors. It just broke my heart, and strengthened my resolve to stay with my baby until she was better.

So that first night, Bryan went home to be with Caleb, and I was left to sleep on those super-comfortable hospital couch-beds (note the sarcasm), with no extra clothes or toiletries.

The next day, Bryan brought some clothes, pajamas, shampoo, toothpaste, etc. And of all the pairs of pajama pants I owned (I had at least 20), he brought me the scrub pants and matching t-shirt. The same colors the University used, and the same colors all the university hospital workers used. I was so embarrassed, and couldn't figure out why Bryan would choose the worst possible option!

It wasn't too big a deal, until one of the doctors came in, and the first thing he asked me was if I worked there (at the hospital). Sheepishly, I blamed my husband for my wardrobe.

I guess my pride was hurt, because he probably thought I was housecleaning or kitchen aid. And I would rather people mistake me for a nurse or doctor. Especially after all the new residents came in to take a look at my kid, and they were just a couple years older than I was.

Well, the end of the story was that after starting Savanna on antibiotics as soon as we got to the ER, and spending three days and three nights in the Children's Hospital, we finally went home with a diagnosis of pneumonia. And we were grateful that it was only pneumonia.