The 5 Second Rule

According to Wikipedia, the 5 second rule applies to foods that have fallen to the ground. The great pedia goes on to explain that normally, customary rules of hygiene dictate that food that has fallen to the ground should be discarded in order to prevent ingestion of disease-causing agents acquired from the dirty surface. The rule states that if the food is picked up within five seconds, it can still be eaten. For the most part our family is a strong believer in this commandment. However, 5 seconds has a whole new meaning to me after this weekend.

My daughter seems to be following in the footsteps of her great Papa Hills. Much like her Dada, she encompasses not only the tenacity for getting what she wants when she wants it, but has the temper to match. On a side note, the poor thing has been ill this weekend, engaging in the battles of usual childhood illness'--stuffy nose, fever, and general tend toward fussiness. However, this Saturday was like no other.

After being simply unable to comprehend her father's incessant need to change her out of her dirty clothes, Miss Fuss launched herself into her usual red face, breath holding, angry muscle clenching stance. In a desperate attempt to reach yours truly, she bumped her mouth, oh so gently on my knee. As if changing her clothes wasn't bad enough, right? Fuss E. Pott then gulped for another breath of air, only to find that she was possessed by her own hysteria. As I tried desperately to console her, I noticed her lips turning blue and her head beginning to slump back onto her shoulders. Just like that she was out. That is right, out. I grabbed her into my arms and for 5 of the most horrifying seconds of my life, I tried to wake her. She was limp. She was not breathing. She was gone.

Without warning and almost as fast as she had disappeared, Olivia was back. Her screams had turned to only whimpers and her face seemed puzzled and confused by the event that had just transpired. As we headed out the door to the local pediatric urgent care, I imagined future trips to the hospital and thought about how both she and I would endure the numerous tests that would surely have to be done. We raced into the medical building, and somewhat panicked, told the gal in the front office what had happened only minutes before. Insurance card, she replied. Not even a please. As Miss Fuss sucked on her pacifier contently, she admired the large television that was blaring Shrek in the waiting room. We handed over our very important card, waited several minutes and explained the situation to the unconcerned and very seasoned nurse. In moments, she described that this could be a common occurrence if Olivia learns to create this empowering spectacle on her own. On her own, I thought. What? My child is going to pass out at will, if she looses her temper? My, my, this is not what I had signed up for. As the nurse left the room, we heard her proclaim to the doctor, Vaso Vagal, room 3. Turns out, that is the response the body has when all of the blood travels to the head, leaving the heart no option but to reduce it's rate of pumping so low that the person passes out.

Rather than cry, I will choose to laugh. I will choose to use all 5 of these seconds to add to the list of stories I will tell her, when she is old enough to appreciate and laugh at herself. I will choose to now call her Vaso Vagal, instead of Olivia Hannah, in an attempt to get me through just one more day.