The Big Ouchie

I've never been fond of hospitals. Whenever I find myself in one for long stretches of time, I get kinda sick inside. I imagine my body being invaded by all sorts of intruders. It doesn't help that hospitals don't exactly conjure up pleasant memories. My Tito E passed away in one after days of experiencing excruciating pain.

When my daughter E told me that Baby S had to be confined to the hospital, my heart went out to my two-and-a-half-year-old apo. She's too young to be cooped up in a sterile room and hooked to an IV! But over a couple of days last week, she had developed red rashes that turned into big purplish blotches that had us all worried.

And so there was Baby S, all bored and restless as we waited for the results of her tests. She points to her right hand, the one where they got her hooked up to an IV, and calls it big ouchie. She cuddles up to her mom. She gets down and starts running around while we chase after with the IV stand. She sits next to me, pretends big ouchie is a toy car, and runs it all over my face. And every so often, the hospital staff would come in to give her medicine or get some more blood for more tests, and our bored and restless Baby S would become a howling, growling toddler throwing a big, fat tantrum.

Her tests came out okay, and Baby S is fine now. Hope we don't see the hospital anytime soon.