She was seizing. Her eyes were reactive, but she was seizing. I called out for point-one-mig-per-kig. The nurses disappeared for an eternity, and all I could do was watch the monitors. 38.4. 200. 44. 98%. Put on the oxygen. Pray she didn’t choke on her own vomit.
The nurses returned with a syringe and point-one-mig-per-kig. “How fast should I give it?” The nurse was shaking. She had never done this before.
“Just push it.” I held my breath.
She stopped. Her eyes closed, and she gave a little sigh before she fell asleep.
Get some blood, check some labs. And I panicked. What had I done? I watched myself write fluid orders, calculated and recalculated. What had I done?
The next 15 minutes were agony. She had a seizure, and I didn’t know why. Was it her fluids? I watched the nurses draw tiny vials of blood, neatly labeled and sprinted off to tell all sorts of stories. I must not have calculated her fluids correctly.
Her blood work was unremarkable. It was all normal, and her fluids were fine. I cried. Her mother cried. She was sleeping comfortably for the first time that night. And her fluids were fine.
