When my son was between one and two years old, he would sometimes go in to temper tantrums. These usually happened when he was very tired or was balking at going to bed. No big deal. It's just what kids do.
One day, he started screaming and got himself so agitated and worked up that his face turned red, then blue. Then his eyes rolled up in his head and he passed out cold, limp...non-breathing.
My wife and I were shocked and fought the urge to panic. We lived about 45 minutes from a doctor and knew that we could never get him there in time. But neither of us have any real first aid training other than scouts. For about 30 seconds to a minute, my son just dangled limp in my arms. I knew he was dying, and I was about to start mouth to mouth when his eyes snapped back, and he took a huge breath. Within a few seconds, he was back with us and very tired. The rest of that night went fine although we watched him very carefully.
The next day, we took him to the doctor and the doctor told us not to be alarmed. Some kids pass out when they are angry. So when he did it again a few weeks later, we were less worried, and he came back to consciousness within a minute. This scene repeated itself probably a half dozen times that year.
The best time was when he passed out on the concrete deck at our community swimming pool. There he was all limp and clammy. The concrete ladies club was in a full panic, but my wife and I were cool. "He'll come around in a minute or so." They thought we were the worst parents in the world and gossiped to no end about how horrible we were.
By the time my son was two, he outgrew that phase in his life and turned his attentions to things that boys traditionally do: playing with sticks, riding big wheels, and catching/torturing insects.
One day, he started screaming and got himself so agitated and worked up that his face turned red, then blue. Then his eyes rolled up in his head and he passed out cold, limp...non-breathing.
My wife and I were shocked and fought the urge to panic. We lived about 45 minutes from a doctor and knew that we could never get him there in time. But neither of us have any real first aid training other than scouts. For about 30 seconds to a minute, my son just dangled limp in my arms. I knew he was dying, and I was about to start mouth to mouth when his eyes snapped back, and he took a huge breath. Within a few seconds, he was back with us and very tired. The rest of that night went fine although we watched him very carefully.
The next day, we took him to the doctor and the doctor told us not to be alarmed. Some kids pass out when they are angry. So when he did it again a few weeks later, we were less worried, and he came back to consciousness within a minute. This scene repeated itself probably a half dozen times that year.
The best time was when he passed out on the concrete deck at our community swimming pool. There he was all limp and clammy. The concrete ladies club was in a full panic, but my wife and I were cool. "He'll come around in a minute or so." They thought we were the worst parents in the world and gossiped to no end about how horrible we were.
By the time my son was two, he outgrew that phase in his life and turned his attentions to things that boys traditionally do: playing with sticks, riding big wheels, and catching/torturing insects.
3 comments:
I wish you guys had videotaped one of these incidents. I can't imagine myself doing that.
You did...many times. Usually when you were very tired.
And to Set the Record Straight on this matter...
I took artistic license in the write-up. I said that I was holding my son when this happened. That's not the way the first episode went down. My wife was holding my son. He did what I wrote and she called me to call 911. I ran to her and she passed him to me...at about that time he was blue and then his limp body gathered a huge breath.
The episodes continued fairly regularly for a few months. Our doctor insisted that it was normal, and we eventually learned not to panic.
The last time he did it was at the pool in front of the "Concrete Club." By that time, we were old pros and knew he'd come around. Of course, they thought we were the worst parents in the world.
What makes this even more humorous, a few years later, when our son was five, he broke his leg while my wife and I were playing a church league softball game. His break was clean (another story for the blog later)and the doctor decided to simply wrap the leg and place him on crutches...no cast! The "Concrete Club" couldn't understand why a child with a "supposed" broken leg had no cast, and IF the leg was broken...why wasn't there a cast? Again...this is fodder for another blog entry.
Post a Comment