It's been a while. There is much I have mused about writing and wanted to write about in the last months, and have only managed to re-post someone else's post (Starhawk) because I just can't think straight!
This week has been incredibly insane. The last three days in particular. Our son and mostly angel-boy, Harley became violently ill Weds night and I for one was not convinced that he wasn't dying... (Ms Moon affectionately reminds me that when it comes to Harley, I tend to resemble a certain childhood chicken we all know and love, Ms Henny Penny. And hell, she's the chicken lady, so she would know.)
Harley had been complaining of belly aches off and on for the better part of a week to 10 days or so. It was not slowing him up AT all, and he would just vaguely mention it. Having a mostly vegetarian diet, I chalked it up to gas and too many holiday treats... but after about a week or so, we brought him in to our brand spankin NEW PEDIATRICIAN's office, which I ADORE! He was looked over by a nurse and had all the signs of a healthy kid: no weight loss, nice soft belly, no hernias, no temp... We were told to monitor his diet and note if the aching belly spikes at particular times of day. Off we went.
THAT night he came into our room complaining that his head hurt. Then a few minutes later, in fact everything hurt. Then he commenced puking, Exorcist style... I think his head was even spinning a little. I can't recall because I was trying to find a suitable receptacle. We finally make it to the bathroom, and more puking. After which, we tried laying down in Harley's room while hub threw our bedding in the wash. (Have I mentioned our appliances are outdoors on the porch in the freezing fucking cold? They are.) So not too long after settling in Harley's bed, he pukes again. Before I can reach the puke pan, it's all over the covers. (Thank God Allah Buddha and Ronald McDonald that I set an old blanket on top of the comforter in Harley's room... If that would have been covered in bile, I'd have just thrown it away rather than try to clean it!) Finally we settle on the couch (the only remaining puke-free zone), for some videos, puke pan within reach, because it' s quite obvious nobody is going to sleep. I can't remember how many times he puked. I tried to give him small sips of water, which only ignited more puking. Then it got really violent. Face reddening, trembling, screaming and doubled over in pain violent. This is not only heart wrenching but scary as a heart attack. This kid never screeches unless it's for joy, so I knew something was terribly wrong. There was even a few times where his movements were convulsive. Not sure what it was... it was not a full blown seizure or convulsion, but it was like that... sort of autistic in the movement. This was the last straw. Time to wake up the hub.
We get bundled up, with puke pan in hand and are heading out the door. For some reason, the hub always wants to take his car which is to say, the wreck of the Hespress. My car is an old Jeep. We joke that many holy butts have traveled around in it, as it used to belong to the man who started a local Buddhist temple... The hub has a "nicer" car, yes, but it is NOT holy. It is very very unholy as in MESS. Now in his defense, he does work/live out of his car a lot, but still... He NEVER cleans it and there is just shit every fucking where! While he is trying to move stuff about in a manner that is certainly not going to work because of where the car seat is and where he is parked (I'll spare you) Harley is doubling over in pain puking his guts out AGAIN. I can barely hold him because his knees are buckling. (Did I mention it's cold as a polar bears' nose?) Now I'm scared and PISSED. I demand that we take my car and that Harley will ride in front with me. (Hub is a stickler for safety). However, I am NOT going to let my baby be strapped in while he is doubling over and puking his brains out. Nope. We are doing this the old fashioned way. We'll belt in with him on my lap and the cross strap behind him. I'd like to also point out that my Jeep is so old there is no passenger air bag, so no threat there. Off we go.
We get to the ER and they take us almost immediately. YAY! Everything seems to be going well. We love our assigned doctor and he is thinking along the same lines we are. He is very concerned over Harley's dehydration and wants to give him IV nourishment along with an anti-nausea medicine. Thinking these people are experts, it all sounds good. Till the fucking Phlebotomist team arrives. (They should be called the FLUB-otomists!) I'm not going to go into detail here, because really you don't need it, and I don't need to relive it. Suffice to say, they came barreling in (seriously) like the fucking inquisition, expecting a fight from my frightened dehydrated 4 year old. There were 3 OF THEM!!! The in charge one being the grumpiest redneck bitch you ever saw. She announced that there were a team, because you know kids will kill ya! (WHAT?!) Give me a fucking break already, is this amateur hour at the ER or what? Has this woman watched too many medical dramas? Is she a Grey's Anatomy wannabe? Has she not gotten her dose of adrenalin for the evening? What? So, she makes a huge mess of things, yes, blood spurting, child screaming "Why are they putting a hole in my aaaaaaarm!" Which all could have been easily avoided, had they just A) Taken a more gentle approach and B) Slowed the fuck down so we could explain to Harley what to expect. Sigh.
The good news is that once he settled and we complained to the Charge Nurse, etc... the IV nourishment and the meds did wonders. He perked right up, and when we got home at around 8am, we all fell asleep for about 4 hours or so with no incident. Then Harley and hub wake up and all seems to be well for the first 5 or so minutes. Then, Daddy, I pooped my pants...! So, now the poor guy has diarrhea. We went through 3 sets of clothes and decided it was time for him to see his official doctor and see if we can figure this out. We ride the whole way with a towel stuffed in the poor boy's pants in case there is any more leakage... I even packed an overnight bag because I was pretty sure we were going to end up in the hospital for the night. (How long can a person puke and well, squirt before it becomes frighteningly harmful?) In my packing efforts, I forgot the puke bucket. So, of course first thing as soon as we're on the highway: "Mom, I need to pook"! Oh geez. Luckily I keep an old bag (that once contained an Indian pattern blanket made in china. The questionable native non=profits keep on sending me these in hopes that it will influence me to donate.) The bad was rather large, and worked very well. I may have to write a check next week.
The doc took us right away, and Harley had lost a pound and a quarter in 2 days time. Not anything to be alarmed about, but it was concerning to me none the less. (Being Henny Penny and all...) He puked about 5 times while we were in the docs office which did not phase any of the staff in the least. (I love this place! They simply kicked over a waste basket and handed me a box of tissue) When it was over, a sweet little nurse appeared with a Pedialite pop! These things are the BEST. If you ever have a sick kid, you NEED these! He was checked out by a nurse first, then she suggested doc look at him. When the doc came in I loved him immediately. So human, so real and unpretentious. Harley was now lying exhausted on the examining table. The doc introduces himself and says "He looks like he's ready for residency..." Which I thought was empathetic and cute. (You had to be there) He talked to us for a very long time and did a thorough exam of Harley. (Did I mention it is WAY past closing time? Most of the staff is gone by now, but he is not so much as glancing at his watch or tapping a toe!) UNHEARD OF! He listens to our concerns and tells us his strategy is to just wait it out! Again, UNHEARD OF!!! We asked if we could get that anti-nausea medication he got in the ER. No problem. We were concerned he would not be able to keep anything down without it. We left feeling relieved and hopeful. Harley gave one last puke in the parking lot.
So now, here we are at Sat. This kid has not complained once except to say: "mommy? Do you think my belly will ever feel good again?" To which I answered "Yes love, it will... Remember how you thought you would never stop coughing? But you did! And your belly will stop hurting too". We've been watching every video in the arsenal: Nemo, Wiggles, Backyardigans, Word World, Dinosaur Train, Winnie the Pooh, Kipper... etc... and still watching with intermittent napping and reading stories. He is keeping things down, but still says that his tummy is hurting. It goes from a little bad to very bad. (There is also medium bad, but that is not as frequent). So I am grateful that this darling child of mine is feeling good enough to keep down not only liquid, but some food also, and is returning to his giggly, charming and sometimes bossy nature. (Something he does when he is frustrated)
I'll take that.