In the small hours of Wednesday morning, Ivy, who, for all intensive purposes has had a great month, spiked a temp and had a febrile convulsion.

It was only one.

My mummy head screamed to scoop her up and take her to the hospital but just as I was about to leave (It takes an hour to get to there) her post –  ictal phase came to an end and she sat up, still febrile but alive, alert and awake.

Her day was typical of a not well child. She grumped and grizzled through the day, slept alot and ate and drank little.

But she was ok.

Again in the wee hours of this morning her temperature escalated quickly from a respectable 38.1 degrees to 39.8 degrees in a matter of minutes and she fitted again. This time for almost two minutes.

It was still only the one though. If it were two, I would have gone in, no question.

That sleepy, groggy time was longer and this time I had the bag in the car and the booster placed when she woke, felt my wet hair on her face and declared that I had had a shower.

I double dosed her with panadol and sat on her, staying awake, all night, for the second night in a row, knowing that we had an appointment with the paed at midday and praying that we could make it until then.

Of course, morning came and she was alot better. Her temperature hovering around the 38 degrees but upright and mobile.

I was not.

I was a train wreck.

Ivy played the good - little –  moderately –  sick –  girl and I learned that she had bilateral otits media again and that the grommeted one was discharging (probably Staph) and the right one had perforated and was discharging in sympathy for its left sister. (Therefore giving us a site of infection). I learned that her heart rate was around the 150 beats per minute ( as opposed to the 160 – 180 she had been only a few hours earlier) I learned that the peeling, red rash on Ivy’s hands might be strep or it might be something entirely different.

I arrived at the paeds rooms with a need. After 48 hours of  watching and worrying, I needed someone (namely the doctor) to make the decision for me.

Of course he didn’t, I mean, that isn’t his job. I have never had that expectation of him. I’ve always played the equality card, the we’re in this together line, I have never asked him to make any calls without my input.

Until today.

So when he put the decision firmly back into my hands as to whether Ivy needed admission to hospital or not I thrust my chin forward, put on my brave face and told him I would cope.

He gave me some guidelines (Duh moments, Dave calls them) like if I couldn’t wake her after a convulsion or if she had a high temp with no source of infection because when you are immune suppressed, you don’t tend to spike a temp until it’s late in the infection game. Definitely hospital worthy.

What of the times when she is like this though?

Ok in the day but tragically ill in the night time.

How do I make the call, how do I know whether to push on until morning or when to go?

When you are sleep deprived and can’t think?

I wanted some clear guidelines.

I wanted him to say, ok, if she gets to 39.9 go to hospital, if her heart rate is above 160bpm, go to hospital, if she is purple and pink with blue polkadots, take her to the hospital. A cheat sheet, if you will.

I didn’t get it and I shouldn’t have expected it.

After all, I’m her mother, I have to make that call.

I walked out (after being told I had to make regular appointments by the receptionist, that I was no longer allowed to have his lunch hours or his before hours, unless they were firmly booked in advance…’ and he is booked out until September, you know’) and completely lost it.

I made it to the carpark before I turned into a complete blubbery mess.

I sat in the car and howled.

I must have looked quite a sight to the pregnant women arriving for their antenatal check, or that old guy who stopped dead in the carpark just to have a good long stare at  little old me.

Because that is what it was about.

Me.

I needed someone to just take care of me today.

To make it okay, you know?

I phoned David and cried to him, I drove down the road and cried to my friend.

Why?

I was tired, yes but I was also really confused.

Why did I balk at taking her to the hospital? She could be 48 hours into IV antibiotics now with a possible discharge tomorrow.

It’s such a hard call. Especially when you are too tired to function.

Am I overly emotional because I feel responsible for William’s death? Do I jump in too soon because of that?

I don’t want to be labelled as a mother who over reacts. I’m a nurse, who has worked in paeds and I know the kind of conversations that go on about the parents behind closed doors. I am realistic. I don’t want to be that Mum.

Am I waiting too long; because I’m a nurse, because I feel I can push it more, because I don’t want to be judged?

I hate grey areas.

Sadly there is hardly any black or white with the Ivy – girl.

I hate trying to make good decisions in a stressful situation.

Sadly, there are way too many of those at the moment, for Ivy and for me.

 If she fits tonight we’ll go in. In my mind, if she gets to 39 degrees I’m taking her, I won’t question it, I’ll just go.

The paed says we cope too well and that is the trouble. Most people would have just taken her to the hospital before now.

I’m not sure how to feel about that statement. He could be reprimanding my call or he could be saying he thinks we do an ok job of dealing with the stuff that the girl throws our way. I guess it is his way of saying it’s ok to take her to the hospital, without having to make the final decision himself.

I’m too tired to work it out though.