Just Hope That She Doesn't Have a Run-In with Magneto

My kid swallowed a marble last night.

Now, since I know you're probably going to ask, no I do NOT have a toddler running around that I've conveniently forgotten to mention.

This was my youngest child who is going to be all of nine years old in a few short months. My supposedly borderline-gifted almost nine-year-old swallowed a silver ball bearing from one of those Magnetix sets because she missed the memo that putting random shit in your mouth for no good reason is the kind of crap you're supposed to stop doing usually around the time you are toilet-trained.

There we were, almost ready for bed and as she was walking into the kitchen, she looked up at the ceiling and then suddenly started screaming, and coughing a bit.  But mostly screaming, while clutching her throat.

At least she's not choking, if she can scream like that is my first thought as I run over to see just what the hell happened to make her start wailing like a banshee.  In mere seconds she stops, calms down.

“What the hell happened?"

Perfectly calm, she answers “Apparently, I just swallowed a marble."


Awesome right?


I had no idea what to do.

Logically it seemed like the thing to do would be to wait it out, until nature took its course and the marble made it's way out via a route that would possible end up shattering my toilet bowl.  On my mom's advice I called Telehealth and after hearing that Reeg's was having some stomach pain, I was advised by the nurses to take her to the ER.  Which I did even though I had a feeling it was probably a wasted trip but good old Maternal Guilt™, that fucker, kept telling me that if I DIDN'T take her then I'd regret the hell out of it when said child, now affectionately and somewhat mockingly referred to as Marble Girl, died of a perforated bowel in the middle of the night.

Maternal Guilt™ is a bitch that way.  I think he feeds off the souls of the perpetually anxious and insecure.

So sending her sister off to Grammy's, I packed her up and headed to the hospital, making sure to bring a book because fuck wait times.  Two and a half hours and one x-ray later, we left Emerg with the sage advice that she would probably pass it and bring her back if she experienced ‘Severe pain'.

I feel like I should have cropped out my kids pelvis. That's weird, isn't it?

Thing is, ‘Severe Pain' is pretty fucking subjective.  Especially in a child who doesn't really know how to express gradations of pain other than by using extremities.  Which is why we ended up back in the ER again today to basically end up with the same set of sage advice, but from a different set of doctors. Even though the marble had NOT.  BUDGED.  AN.  INCH.

Last Night's Pain.

Today's pain, which led to another ER trip.  Yeah, that's right.  KANYE-SIZED PAIN.

This time before leaving, I made the doctor specify exactly what kind of pain I should be on the lookout for, none of this vague-descriptors-like-severe bullshit.  Vomiting, doubled-over, clutching stomach type pain.  

So we play the waiting game, and tomorrow I once again get to take her back to Emerg for another X-Ray because in all likelihood, it would take three weeks to get an appointment with my doctor.  

The girls stepmother remarked to me on the phone "I bet she never does this again."

I do too.  If the tedious amounts of time we've had to spend in hospitals with SWEET FUCK ALL to do doesn't deter her, the amount of ribbing she has received certainly will.  I have thoughts for a Marble Girl comic and possibly a halloween costume and a series of licensed merchandise and action figures.