Team8s and Counting

177. Seeing the Signs

The ambulance was speeding away to the hospital with Sprinkle lying down on the stretcher, and Barf Bag continuing to squeeze his hand and letting him know what was going on. Meanwhile, the paramedics continued to ask Barf Bag about what happened.

"How long did the seizure last?" One of them asked.

Barf Bag tried to keep her composure as much as she could. "I'm not 100% sure. Two? Maybe three minutes?"

Barf Bag could see them writing what she was saying down. "And does he have a history of seizures?"

Barf Bag shook her head. "No, this is the first time this has happened. My other son ran to get me as fast as he could when it started happening."

"Okay." The Paramedics asked more questions. "Did he hit his head on anything."

"Thankfully not." Barf Bag said, the relief present in her voice. "My other son ran to get me as soon as he saw the shaking, and he stayed on his bed the whole time."

The paramedic nodded, jotting down the details quickly. "That's good to hear. Staying on the bed likely minimized any potential injuries."

Sprinkle stirred slightly on the stretcher, his eyelids fluttering but not opening fully. Barf Bag leaned closer, squeezing his hand again. "It's okay, sweetheart," she murmured. "We're almost there. You're going to be okay."

The paramedic went up to Sprinkle, managing to make eye contact with him. "Hey there buddy, we'll be at the hospital soon. I just want to run some tests right now to see how you're doing, okay?" His voice was calm and reassuring, but Barf Bag could see Sprinkle's confusion as he tried to process what was happening.

Sprinkle blinked slowly, his lips moving as though he wanted to speak but couldn't quite form the words. Barf Bag leaned in closer, her voice soft but steady. "Don't try too hard to talk, baby. Just rest for now. You're safe."

The paramedic gently adjusted the straps on the stretcher and prepared a small finger-prick device. "We're going to check your blood sugar real quick," he explained, showing the device to Barf Bag. "Sometimes low blood sugar can cause symptoms like this."

Barf Bag nodded, not thinking too much of it, knowing that this was standard protocol, watching the paramedic get to work. A tiny drop of blood was collected, and the paramedic mumbled the results to the other one.

Both of their eyes widened. "50 mg/dl (milligrams per deciliter)."

Barf Bag's hands immediately flew over her mouth. She had never told the paramedics about her occupation, so they probably thought that she had no idea what that number meant. However, alarms started going off in her head almost instantly.

"Oh my SAP...that's low...that's really low...", she said, trembling. She immediately went back to giving Sprinkle's hand a tight squeeze. "I'm so sorry buddy."

"Don't worry ma'am, we know." a paramedic reassured her, as the other went to grab a shot glucagon to administer.

The paramedic looked into Sprinkle's eyes, and told him what was going to happen. "I'm going to give you this shot in your thigh to try and help you, okay?"

Sprinkle let out a small mumble, as the shot was administered.

"There you go." The paramedic said.

Barf Bag sighed in relief. "I'm sorry...I actually work in the ER where we're going, that's why I panicked at the number."

The paramedics exchanged glances, their expressions softening with understanding. "That explains it."

Barf Bag nodded, her hands still trembling slightly as she held Sprinkle's. She's seen this kind of thing happen before, but seeing it happen to her own baby hit that much different. A million thoughts started running through her head about what was happening to her son, but she tried not to let them take over, and focused on making sure her son was comfortable.