Hairspray ... and the ER. Can we say "trust?"

My daughter is a strong-willed 2-year-old. I have seen few adults, let alone children, who can match her defiance. (I'm getting payback!) But she's also the sweetest, happiest child I know. Friends who know her well call her "adventurous."
As I type this, she is supposed to be having quiet time on her bed, but I've already had to put her back in bed four times. She keeps bringing me plastic vegetables from her kitchen, calling them "presents."
Our house, with the exception of her room, has ceramic tile flooring. The bed that my husband and I have is taller than her, but she finds ways to climb onto it and play around on it when she gets a chance. We are always telling her that if she falls, she could crack her head open and we'd have to take her to the hospital.
One morning last week she fell off our bed for the first time ever. Thankfully, she didn't hurt her head but her arm broke the fall. Again, thankfully, her arm wasn't broken. After she stopped crying and I'd established that her arm was okay, she tells me in her sweet little voice, "Mommy, I didn't crack my head open."
I told her that I was thankful she didn't, but she could have, or she could have broken her arm, and we would have had to go to the hospital and that would not be fun.
Fast forward to that afternoon, when things had been too quiet for about a minute and a half, maybe two minutes. I discovered her with an empty bottle of non-aerosol hairspray up to her mouth area. Trying to push the panic down (I have acute anxiety disorder as it is!), I take the bottle from her and ask her if she drank the hairspray. "Yes." I ask her to blow in my face and get a full-blown whiff of hairspray.
I ran to the phone and dialed poison control (their number is on my phone -- I put it there the last time I had to call them about her eating plant fertilizer pellets). I told them my 2-1/2-year-old had just finished drinking an 8.5 oz bottle of hairspray. I didn't see any evidence of spills anywhere so I figured that was the case. They basically told me that with the alcohol content in that amount of hairspray in a child that size, she could be in a coma in less than 20 minutes. Before panicking, I take another look around and see that the dogs (we have two) have new hair styles.
"Okay," I say, "she didn't drink the whole bottle because I see some on the dogs. But I don't know how much she did drink."
They instructed me to swish her mouth with water, give her a full cup of milk. "She's lactose intolerant," I say. "I've got soy milk." They tell me to give her Kool-Aid. "I don't have Kool-Aid." (Are you kidding me? Kool-Aid in a kid like this?!) "I have juice." (100 percent, she's given it diluted with water!) *Scanning the cupboard* "Or Pedialyte!" "Give her the Pedialyte," he says.
He tells me they will call back in 20 minutes but I need to monitor her closely and if she shows any signs of drunkenness at all, I need to go to the hospital. (He had already established the fact that it would take me less than five minutes to get there.)
I get off the phone and watch her like a hawk. She starts, in my opinion, acting tipsy.
"Mahhhhmmmmeeeee!" ... over and over again. She starts telling me to watch her walk up the stairs, and takes very big steps, repeating my name in that ridiculous way. We don't have stairs.
I decided it was time to take her to ER, but my husband had already left work and was in his "workshop" away from the house and the cell phones were out of order that afternoon. I made some phone calls trying to get someone to go get him and then headed out.
Trying not to panic, I get her in the car seat, strap myself in, turn the hazards on and peel out of the driveway. I won't publish how fast I was driving to the hospital a few miles down the road. I even made some people pull over for me.
Trying to pray on the way there, I couldn't make out but a few words over and over again.
"Mommy, what's wrong?" my daughter asks from the backseat. I calmed down and said, "Well, Baby, you drank that hairspray and it could make you very sick so Mommy has to take you to the hospital to make sure you're going to be okay."
"Okay, Mommy," she says. I fight back the tears.
I pull into the hospital parking area and zoom to the ER entrance. It's blocked off with cement markers. I slam into reverse and find the nearest spot to the main entrance, then grab my daughter, purse and diaper bag and run to the ER door. It's locked. I know it's after hours, but still. Our ER is the most locked-down ER you could ever try to get into. I run through th e main entrance, daughter in my arms and yell at the guy behind the desk, who was checking in some patients.
"EMERGENCY!!! How do I get in????!" He motions toward another door and I fly through it. He meets me on the other side, looking at my daughter skeptically. No blood, fully conscious. "What's the matter?" he asks me. "She drank hairspray. She's acting drunk." He brings me through, where a nurse starts taking my daughter's vitals.
They usher us into another area of the ER and tell us to sit on the bed, where they proceed to check her out some more, then call poison control. She's telling me she's sleepy and wants to lay down, so I start getting really worried. They come back to take her blood, and there's still no sign of my husband. A friend has come by that time to tell me her husband couldn't find my husband, but he left a note on his truck. They take two vials of blood from my daughter, and she doesn't make a sound. No crying, nothing. Amazing.
My husband eventually shows up, and by this time my daughter is trying to get into everything in the ER. We know she's back to normal. He sits down with her and eventually she gets tired of squirming and pipes up, "Daddy, I want to go see Mommy." He lets her down and she starts to come to me, but does a deliberate U-turn and heads another direction. Before we can stop her, she has pulled the emergency alarm. "Red light!" she says as a light comes on and the alarm sounds. My husband runs out of the room apologizing and explaining that everything is fine, she just pulled the alarm.
They come back with the blood results and there wasn't enough to really detect. Thank God! we got lectures from three different nurses on child-proofing our home. I'm not exaggerating that our house is probably the most child-proofed in town. Of course they didn't believe me. (She'll find a way to get anything!) All is well and so we head home, two and a half hours later. As we're driving away, my daughter says, "Mommy, it was fun in the hospital!"
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I tend to try to do things on my own a lot, and trust in my own ways. I got a good lesson in trust last week. No matter how hard we try to keep our kids and ourselves out of danger, no matter how hard we try to do anything, we still aren't really in control. I have to continue to put trust in God that he will take care of things and keep our daughter safe. He can take so much better care of our valuables than we can attempt to, but we still have a difficult time letting him. I'm doing better, but I hope I don't have to have too many lessons like that!
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And she never napped, or stayed in her bed. (She will go to bed early tonight and she didn't get her diluted juice and fruit chews.) Just in case you're wondering.