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katestine"Kids get sick," is what Nurse Craig and my husband always tell me, but March-May was a lot. I wasn't even back to work yet before I had to take both boys to urgent care, one for an earache and the other for stomach problems. Sherlock missed a day of school for that, then a few more in mid-April for a slight fever. At the end of April, I got the text at work about how he looks tired and has a 100F fever, would I please pick him up? I had gotten to the point where I knew how long it would take to take a cab from work, preordering lunch on the way, pick him up, pick up lunch, and make it to my next weekend. *facepalm* But his fever lingered into May. His babysitter pursed her lips and fed him chicken soup, which he vomited all over his room 30 mins after she left. The next morning, he looked worse and complained his peeper hurt, not while peeing, but after. The nurse line told me to take him to the ER, just in case, but I'd kinda been thinking it was time for more medical care.
The ER was so new, the construction folks were still screwing in electrical outlets. Sherlock was taken for an ultrasound, which was inconclusive. He was "nothing by mouth", but I struggled to get him to drink the contrast. He was so feverish, so confused, and so miserable, but tried so hard to stay still. They had pediatricians, but after we'd been there a half day, concluded we needed to go to the children's hospital in Manhattan.
I'd never been in an ambulance before. When we got there, we were met by pediatric and surgical residents, who told us he had appendicitis, but the standard of care no longer assumed surgery. He'd be there for monitoring and then they'd re-evaluate. Meanwhile, my 4yo was still NPO. He begged me for something eat, having kept nothing down in the last 24 hours. At bedtime, the aide brought me those damp sponges for cleaning the mouth. My clever little monkey insisted he needed to be thorough and sucked on several.
Around midnight, long after I'd gone to bed, a young man came to the room to ask me to sign paperwork. I asked him what for. "For the surgery." What surgery? I don't know, I'm a surgical resident, please fill out the paperwork. We went back and forth and finally he offered to call the surgeon. "Absolutely not. If there is ANY possibility he is operating on my son tomorrow, you let him sleep."
We were up at six for "vitals" and waited hours for rounds. I do not miss all the time I spent sneaking out of the hospital room to get breakfast in the hall so that I didn't upset my ailing child. The surgeon trooped in with his entourage and halely explained my son's appendix was like a rotten banana, that was falling apart and had to be removed ASAP before it spewed infection. HE explained they'd been trying to get my son in yesterday, but he got to the hospital so late *facepalm* He was scheduled for a 1pm surgery but they'd try to get him in sooner.
They did not. Still NPO, but at least the end was in sight. (HAHAHAHAsob) A nice lady came in and asked what he liked, explaining that while he was in a surgical floor, not a kids floor, they would bring him toys. I knew the tv and ordering system from my own stay *sob* and we watched a lot of cartoons. Eventually his turn came.
The surgeon came out and told us they'd gotten the rotten banana, he should be good to go in a day or two. That's what I heard any way, but apparently he also said something about how sometimes there are complications. I'd say I wish I'd listened more closely, but they were going to explain it all again over the next few days anyway. Sherlock woke in the post-op room just long enough to eat an ice pop with a slight smile. They wheeled us into a corner room on a children's floor, with an enormous tv and wraparound windows with an expansive view of the horizon. it was larger than my first apartment and the shades were certainly fancier.
The constant stream of medical folks - pediatric and surgical - tracked his output. We measured his pee and my champion pooper suddenly couldn't make a movement. He wasn't very hungry. His abdomen was harder and more painful than it had been presurgery. The nurses and doctors intently asked if he'd passed any gas. Nada.
Friday afternoon, a surgical resident came in and explained he had an ileus, a common complication of appendix surgery. He explained that sometimes the GI fails to reboot after surgery and then it gets stuffed and then it can't reboot. Given that it was Friday afternoon, he suggested we put in a tube to drain things, but it would have to go through his nose and he'd once more be NPO. I knew he wouldn't be happy - he'd gotten scoped in early Feb so the ENT could look at his adenoids - but the resident assured me this is what he'd recommend if it were his littler brother and any way, he'd done a nose tube the day before to an infant.
I bet the infant was less trouble. There were 6? 8? different nurses, doctors, and support staff and they couldn't get it in, no matter how I tried to calm him down. Finally I said, "what if I held him?" which everyone quickly agree would be best. Which is how I ended up bear hugging my 4yo, with people holding his hands, the nice "child life" specialist trying to distract/bribe him with bubbles, and me singing "Clementine". He was so mad.
Jon arrived an hour later, after the commotion was all over, to relieve me. I'd been there 2 nights, it was time to see my other son. I took him to the school play and to synagogue and then some nice folks took him for a play date so I could go back to the hospital. I think this is when the HVAC unit in the boys' room leaked and flooded their room, which we only discovered when the neighbors banged on our door at 2am. I was so tired-stupid, I couldn't figure out how to dry the floor until they helped. Great neighbors.
They got 1.5 blender bottles of gunk out of him, with a troubling resemblance to my mom's smoothies. It was so exciting when he started passing gas, we started talking about what had to happen before he could go home. He was still running a fever though. He also was pooping multiple times an hour, and with all his medical equipment, he didn't always make it to the bathroom in time. They didn't have disposable underwear in his size and we went through a lot of sheets.
The doctors came back to explain that sometimes an abscess will form after surgery, so he'd need a CT scan. I texted Nurse Craig to ask how many CT scans is too much for a 4yo. He got it and they found our little overachiever had TWO abscesses - neither of which they could do anything about. They got permission to put him on the superantibiotics. He was still poorly.
Lexan couldn't come visit, because he is too young, but Lucky did. My brother tried to bring his kids and also brought a remote control car. We visited the play room, which had a pinball machine and so many cars. We never won bingo, but the Child Life specialists brought us Legos to keep. A remote wellwisher hooked us up with his favorite movie, the one we'd seen in the theater (first time!) in late April. We watched a LOT of Turning Red. My little Asian mother apparently watched it at Sherlock's insistence the first night she was back from Florida, but I never got her impression. The nurse was so worried about me, she offered to watch him while I went for a walk outside, but I reassured my husband would come soon. When he did, I fled on a ferry and drank White Claw. (nasty stuff)
I went to the hospital on Mother's Day, where my mother had spent the night to give us a break. She proudly showed me how she'd coaxed him to eat bacon and he eagerly gave me a plant in a DIY pot. We celebrated Mother's Day with my brother. A day or two later, Sherlock came home.
He was home two weeks when he had another fever. We were supposed to go to a new-to-the-school parent happy hour, but instead ended up at the doctor's office. His pediatrician told us to go to the ER, given that he had a 103F fever, and I debated whether to go downstairs to the one right there, or back to the Children's hospital in Manhattan. I chose poorly. When it became clear we were going in another ambulance, I told Jon to pack my bag and meet me at the hospital, it was his turn. Sherlock looked so miserable and wanted his mommy so back to the hospital I went for another late night in their pediatric ER, listening to crying kids until it was our turn to see someone. Multiple nurses and doctors asked me what I do, because I knew all the lingo. *sob* I called the rabbi on her day off and asked what I'd done wrong. ("that's not how our religion works." "but why is this happening!?") We got to the room at near midnight. It was again on the surgical recovery floor, but with no toilet this time. The shared bathroom was disgusting. We watched Turning Red.
Before going to our in person doctor, we'd called the surgical team, but they never got back to us. The pediatricians and surgical team were not happy to see us. They ran lots of tests, reluctantly put him on IV tylenol. They couldn't find anything wrong so they... sent us home. We took a car to where my family had gathered for Memorial Day, cussing medical mysteries.
Epilogue: We still don't know what was wrong with him the second time - he's had a few low fevers since then - and haven't had the energy to get the genetic testing to find out if maybe it's an Ashkenazi thing.
The ER was so new, the construction folks were still screwing in electrical outlets. Sherlock was taken for an ultrasound, which was inconclusive. He was "nothing by mouth", but I struggled to get him to drink the contrast. He was so feverish, so confused, and so miserable, but tried so hard to stay still. They had pediatricians, but after we'd been there a half day, concluded we needed to go to the children's hospital in Manhattan.
I'd never been in an ambulance before. When we got there, we were met by pediatric and surgical residents, who told us he had appendicitis, but the standard of care no longer assumed surgery. He'd be there for monitoring and then they'd re-evaluate. Meanwhile, my 4yo was still NPO. He begged me for something eat, having kept nothing down in the last 24 hours. At bedtime, the aide brought me those damp sponges for cleaning the mouth. My clever little monkey insisted he needed to be thorough and sucked on several.
Around midnight, long after I'd gone to bed, a young man came to the room to ask me to sign paperwork. I asked him what for. "For the surgery." What surgery? I don't know, I'm a surgical resident, please fill out the paperwork. We went back and forth and finally he offered to call the surgeon. "Absolutely not. If there is ANY possibility he is operating on my son tomorrow, you let him sleep."
We were up at six for "vitals" and waited hours for rounds. I do not miss all the time I spent sneaking out of the hospital room to get breakfast in the hall so that I didn't upset my ailing child. The surgeon trooped in with his entourage and halely explained my son's appendix was like a rotten banana, that was falling apart and had to be removed ASAP before it spewed infection. HE explained they'd been trying to get my son in yesterday, but he got to the hospital so late *facepalm* He was scheduled for a 1pm surgery but they'd try to get him in sooner.
They did not. Still NPO, but at least the end was in sight. (HAHAHAHAsob) A nice lady came in and asked what he liked, explaining that while he was in a surgical floor, not a kids floor, they would bring him toys. I knew the tv and ordering system from my own stay *sob* and we watched a lot of cartoons. Eventually his turn came.
The surgeon came out and told us they'd gotten the rotten banana, he should be good to go in a day or two. That's what I heard any way, but apparently he also said something about how sometimes there are complications. I'd say I wish I'd listened more closely, but they were going to explain it all again over the next few days anyway. Sherlock woke in the post-op room just long enough to eat an ice pop with a slight smile. They wheeled us into a corner room on a children's floor, with an enormous tv and wraparound windows with an expansive view of the horizon. it was larger than my first apartment and the shades were certainly fancier.
The constant stream of medical folks - pediatric and surgical - tracked his output. We measured his pee and my champion pooper suddenly couldn't make a movement. He wasn't very hungry. His abdomen was harder and more painful than it had been presurgery. The nurses and doctors intently asked if he'd passed any gas. Nada.
Friday afternoon, a surgical resident came in and explained he had an ileus, a common complication of appendix surgery. He explained that sometimes the GI fails to reboot after surgery and then it gets stuffed and then it can't reboot. Given that it was Friday afternoon, he suggested we put in a tube to drain things, but it would have to go through his nose and he'd once more be NPO. I knew he wouldn't be happy - he'd gotten scoped in early Feb so the ENT could look at his adenoids - but the resident assured me this is what he'd recommend if it were his littler brother and any way, he'd done a nose tube the day before to an infant.
I bet the infant was less trouble. There were 6? 8? different nurses, doctors, and support staff and they couldn't get it in, no matter how I tried to calm him down. Finally I said, "what if I held him?" which everyone quickly agree would be best. Which is how I ended up bear hugging my 4yo, with people holding his hands, the nice "child life" specialist trying to distract/bribe him with bubbles, and me singing "Clementine". He was so mad.
Jon arrived an hour later, after the commotion was all over, to relieve me. I'd been there 2 nights, it was time to see my other son. I took him to the school play and to synagogue and then some nice folks took him for a play date so I could go back to the hospital. I think this is when the HVAC unit in the boys' room leaked and flooded their room, which we only discovered when the neighbors banged on our door at 2am. I was so tired-stupid, I couldn't figure out how to dry the floor until they helped. Great neighbors.
They got 1.5 blender bottles of gunk out of him, with a troubling resemblance to my mom's smoothies. It was so exciting when he started passing gas, we started talking about what had to happen before he could go home. He was still running a fever though. He also was pooping multiple times an hour, and with all his medical equipment, he didn't always make it to the bathroom in time. They didn't have disposable underwear in his size and we went through a lot of sheets.
The doctors came back to explain that sometimes an abscess will form after surgery, so he'd need a CT scan. I texted Nurse Craig to ask how many CT scans is too much for a 4yo. He got it and they found our little overachiever had TWO abscesses - neither of which they could do anything about. They got permission to put him on the superantibiotics. He was still poorly.
Lexan couldn't come visit, because he is too young, but Lucky did. My brother tried to bring his kids and also brought a remote control car. We visited the play room, which had a pinball machine and so many cars. We never won bingo, but the Child Life specialists brought us Legos to keep. A remote wellwisher hooked us up with his favorite movie, the one we'd seen in the theater (first time!) in late April. We watched a LOT of Turning Red. My little Asian mother apparently watched it at Sherlock's insistence the first night she was back from Florida, but I never got her impression. The nurse was so worried about me, she offered to watch him while I went for a walk outside, but I reassured my husband would come soon. When he did, I fled on a ferry and drank White Claw. (nasty stuff)
I went to the hospital on Mother's Day, where my mother had spent the night to give us a break. She proudly showed me how she'd coaxed him to eat bacon and he eagerly gave me a plant in a DIY pot. We celebrated Mother's Day with my brother. A day or two later, Sherlock came home.
He was home two weeks when he had another fever. We were supposed to go to a new-to-the-school parent happy hour, but instead ended up at the doctor's office. His pediatrician told us to go to the ER, given that he had a 103F fever, and I debated whether to go downstairs to the one right there, or back to the Children's hospital in Manhattan. I chose poorly. When it became clear we were going in another ambulance, I told Jon to pack my bag and meet me at the hospital, it was his turn. Sherlock looked so miserable and wanted his mommy so back to the hospital I went for another late night in their pediatric ER, listening to crying kids until it was our turn to see someone. Multiple nurses and doctors asked me what I do, because I knew all the lingo. *sob* I called the rabbi on her day off and asked what I'd done wrong. ("that's not how our religion works." "but why is this happening!?") We got to the room at near midnight. It was again on the surgical recovery floor, but with no toilet this time. The shared bathroom was disgusting. We watched Turning Red.
Before going to our in person doctor, we'd called the surgical team, but they never got back to us. The pediatricians and surgical team were not happy to see us. They ran lots of tests, reluctantly put him on IV tylenol. They couldn't find anything wrong so they... sent us home. We took a car to where my family had gathered for Memorial Day, cussing medical mysteries.
Epilogue: We still don't know what was wrong with him the second time - he's had a few low fevers since then - and haven't had the energy to get the genetic testing to find out if maybe it's an Ashkenazi thing.