Parenting - part 1

Funky tiles in the Tallaght Children's Hospital...  
Mimi has discovered a new hobby, to drive her mum insane with worry: Penicillin allergy. 
It was Panickville chez Raheny when I came back from my swim last night. Mimi had been developing some pretty impressive hives after taking her medication. Worse than when I open the little leather thingy that contains the bill in a posh restaurant. 
As we did not want to take the risk to see her choke, and in the absence of intubation equipment at hand (I wouldn't want to damage the fancy accessories on the new Miele vacuum cleaner), I took her to Tallaght Children's Hospital. 
She was very good. She reacted pretty well to my discussing the fact that Santa is not real, during the drive to the hospital, in an effort to distract her from scratching herself into oblivion.  
I always wondered when the moment would be right to discuss this delicate topic. Now I know. 
The A&E was its usually mix of parents sick with worry, and kids sick with sickness. With varying degrees of severity. Ranging from the broken bones due to acting the bollix before going to bed, to the bad asthma attack, to raging fever. 
The soft cries of the infants who are too weak to wail is particularly distressing. 
The doctor who saw Mimi was great. With a lovely calming voice (it helps in a children's A&E department!) and kind eyes. 
They kept us until the wee hours as the rash took a looooooong time to calm down (it took many many many rounds of rock-paper-scissors). 
So another 'interesting' evening, to the sound track of babies crying like wounded kittens, a cacophony of machines that go 'ping' and old episodes of Sponge Bob.