Sweet and Sour

As many know, one of our 5 year old twins was back in the hospital this week. Not the truck hit one, but the other, Elora. She had the bad luck of having the Strep Virus attack her lungs with pneumonia before deciding to add more chaos in our lives by going after her kidneys . Doug and I noticed something was wrong when the twins suddenly became easy to tell apart. DING! DING! DING! alarms bells went off when we no longer had to ask "Who are you now?" one morning because Elora's face was swelled up like a bee had stung her and her skin was turning a pale yellow. It got more troublesome when she kept throwing up everyday, including a memorable scene in Brick Oven Restaurant in front of a crowd of disgusted teenage waiters. (they spent ten minutes moaning about who had to clean it up. Wimps) We really became panicked when she started to pee colors like cranberry and root beer. But, no worries, after last September, we knew the way to Primary Children's Hospital blindfolded. Three days later, and about 10 thousand dollars, we got to go home again with Elora still peeing colors but no longer feeling sick. Her kidneys would mend. We had dodged another bullet. But I truly knew all was well when I went to tuck the girls in and found Tahlia and Elora curled up side by side in Elora's bed fast asleep. And I couldn't tell who was who once again.

Trauma Side Effects

You know, when trauma occurs in your family, it affects things later that you never thought it would affect. Tahlia was nearly killed in September after being hit by a car. She survived and has recovered almost fully here in February. And we thought we HAD completely recovered as a family. But, little things are still different. Elora has been seriously sick this week with pneumonia (she is still at home). Yet, it has mostly seemed such a minor issue to me. Why? Because, compared to near death experiences of a few months ago, pneumonia is nothing. She is throwing up constantly and her face has swelled up like a ballon and I am taking it in stride. I hand her some Benedrayl, scrub the new colored spot on the carpet while humming a merry little tune. A year ago, if she had been this sick, I would be reacting differently: freaking out. Now, it like "Oh well, it is too bad you have to miss your field trip. Here is a bowl to throw up in again." Don't get me wrong; I don't want her to be sick and I feel bad for her. But, little crises (and even medium crises) are all weighed, filed and placed in comparison to September's tragedy. And they don't even register "LEVEL ORANGE" on my stressed out scale. Am I numbed by what happened? Is this a bad thing? And how long will it last?