Poison Control Part Deux

That's right, Part Deux, as in two. As in calling poison control for the second time. In as many months. And this time it was worse.

Without going into too much detail, after you have a c-section, you get a lot of pills. Pain pills, primarily, but also laxatives. That's right, in case any of you didn't know, now you do. After you have major abdominal surgery, you have poo-poo problems. Which is really not the point...the point is that after I had Patrick, I kept all of my post-partum medications in my bedside table drawer. A drawer that is the perfect height to tempt little two-year old eyes and hands.

I didn't think much of it when I heard Helen rummaging through the drawer as I got ready in my bathroom. What did catch my attention was the splatter of something small and hard on our bedroom floor. I remembered what I kept in the drawer...Vicadin, prescription Motrin. As I went to investigate, I saw dozens of little red pills scattered on the floor. And Helen spitting one out of her mouth. The laxative. And then to top it off, Chase gobbled one up. Great. Now I had a two-year old who had possibly taken or even overdosed on a laxative. And a golden retriever who I envisioned having poo-poo problems of his own.

I wasn't too concerned. Maybe Helen didn't eat any. Maybe she only got one down. But my concern was what if she had eaten five? I better call poison control. At least I could tell them it wasn't the Vicadin.

The lady laughed at me. Told me I would find out soon enough if she ate some. And wasn't concerned if Helen had gotten more than one or two. She laughed even harder when I told her my dog ate one. I bet Vicadin wouldn't have earned a laugh.

So now I am a two-time caller. I'm sure poison control will start calling me daily just to check-in. See what poisons I'm feeding the kids. At least that will save me the time of having to look up the number.