Friday, December 24, 2004
sick, part one
The Boy is sick.
No one in our house slept much last night. Personally, I don't recall glancing at the clock and seeing any time during the hour of 3:00 am, so at most I had about an hour of sleep. Tired? Hell yes, but presently to worked up to consider sleep a viable option at this time.
Last night we spent about 10 hours in a battle to prevent the levels of oxygen in The Boy's blood from slipping down into dangerously low levels.
As that always exists as a possibility with The Boy, amongst the other numerous pieces of fun medical equipment in our home you will find oxygen and other equipment to deal with it. We gotza tools and we gotza mad skillz.
Except it wasn't working out as planned. We spent the night just trying to break even then staying that way, just barely managing to maintain the minimal safe level.
"Low oxygen levels in his blood?" you ask.
This basically means he's not breathing well. There are several reason's for this, one of the most common is the same reason you, my dear reader, or I may have ocassional trouble breathing.
No, I am sorry to say it is not because of the monster hit we just took from the bong.
He's congested. Stuffy nose, coughing, etc. In short, he has a cold. A nasty one that is significantly interfering with his ability to breathe. We are further convinced it is a variation on a cold because his symptoms are nearly identical although exaggerated to my symptoms from last week.
I had a slight cold.
So this morning we call his pediatrician. Right. What are the odds of finding your doctor working two days before Christmas? Not very good apparently. Some other doctor that works at this doctor mall said she didn't want to see The Boy and to take him to the emergency room.
__________
Paraphrasing the end of that telephone conversation:
US: "But doctor, he has all the symptoms of a really bad cold and no symptom of any other illness or infection."
BITCHY DOCTOR (sounding annoyed to be distracted from her holiday plans): "Take him to the ER."
US (hesitantly): "Alright."
__________
So we did. We arrived around noon.
We arrived with a very lethargic child who was having difficulty breathing due to congestion in his upper respiratory system.
"He has a cold."
Debate. Discussion. A doctor who I really dislike kept saying something about The Boy's history of "reactive airway disease", or something like that.
What the fuck is that? How did you come up with that? "No, we think he has a cold."
More debate and discussion. Needles for blood tests. Chest x-ray. Sucking out mucous from his throat and putting it in a little vial.
"He has a bad cold."
Then the doctor I really dislike said something that made me really dislike her, "Well, if you take him home, he might die."
WHAT THE FUCK? HE MIGHT DIE? Who are you? What are you talking about? "He has all the symptoms of a cold."
Test results: blood tests negative for infection or disease with no symptom of any heart problems, throat mucous negative for infection or disease, chest x-ray negative for pneumonia, other infection or disease.
"Right, that's because he has a cold. A cold is caused by a virus that will not show up on your tests because you are not looking for it."
Then another doctor, slightly Apu-ish with a friendly personality, "We don't know what is going on. We think he needs to be admitted to the hospital."
Admitted the hospital? "He has a cold!"
So around 8:00 pm tonight, we found ourselves admitting The Boy to the hospital.
Yes, my dear reader, you read that correctly, we spent about eight fucking hours hanging out in the emergency room. Eight glorious fun filled hours being scared and bullied by doctors who have never seen The Boy before, intimidated and made to doubt our judgement by doctors who have absolutely zero idea about The Boy and his unique medical conditions and needs.
These strangers somehow managed to convince The Wife and I that they know what is best for our child. We were spoke down to, as though we were children or incompetent. We were lectured and scolded. And we let them because they carry the title "Doctor" in front of their name and we are parents deeply concerned about the health of our son.
I have just returned from the hospital. I took the first part of the night shift. Around midnight The Wife arrived to spend the rest of the night.
The Boy is in the "intermediate care unit" at the hospital.
He has a cold.
Neither the Wife nor myself have ever been this angry at ourselves for letting doubt of our judgement interfere with our ability to assert it.
Damn, this whole parenting business is pretty danged hard.
This story is far from over. More later. . .
|
No one in our house slept much last night. Personally, I don't recall glancing at the clock and seeing any time during the hour of 3:00 am, so at most I had about an hour of sleep. Tired? Hell yes, but presently to worked up to consider sleep a viable option at this time.
Last night we spent about 10 hours in a battle to prevent the levels of oxygen in The Boy's blood from slipping down into dangerously low levels.
As that always exists as a possibility with The Boy, amongst the other numerous pieces of fun medical equipment in our home you will find oxygen and other equipment to deal with it. We gotza tools and we gotza mad skillz.
Except it wasn't working out as planned. We spent the night just trying to break even then staying that way, just barely managing to maintain the minimal safe level.
"Low oxygen levels in his blood?" you ask.
This basically means he's not breathing well. There are several reason's for this, one of the most common is the same reason you, my dear reader, or I may have ocassional trouble breathing.
No, I am sorry to say it is not because of the monster hit we just took from the bong.
He's congested. Stuffy nose, coughing, etc. In short, he has a cold. A nasty one that is significantly interfering with his ability to breathe. We are further convinced it is a variation on a cold because his symptoms are nearly identical although exaggerated to my symptoms from last week.
I had a slight cold.
So this morning we call his pediatrician. Right. What are the odds of finding your doctor working two days before Christmas? Not very good apparently. Some other doctor that works at this doctor mall said she didn't want to see The Boy and to take him to the emergency room.
__________
Paraphrasing the end of that telephone conversation:
US: "But doctor, he has all the symptoms of a really bad cold and no symptom of any other illness or infection."
BITCHY DOCTOR (sounding annoyed to be distracted from her holiday plans): "Take him to the ER."
US (hesitantly): "Alright."
__________
So we did. We arrived around noon.
We arrived with a very lethargic child who was having difficulty breathing due to congestion in his upper respiratory system.
"He has a cold."
Debate. Discussion. A doctor who I really dislike kept saying something about The Boy's history of "reactive airway disease", or something like that.
What the fuck is that? How did you come up with that? "No, we think he has a cold."
More debate and discussion. Needles for blood tests. Chest x-ray. Sucking out mucous from his throat and putting it in a little vial.
"He has a bad cold."
Then the doctor I really dislike said something that made me really dislike her, "Well, if you take him home, he might die."
WHAT THE FUCK? HE MIGHT DIE? Who are you? What are you talking about? "He has all the symptoms of a cold."
Test results: blood tests negative for infection or disease with no symptom of any heart problems, throat mucous negative for infection or disease, chest x-ray negative for pneumonia, other infection or disease.
"Right, that's because he has a cold. A cold is caused by a virus that will not show up on your tests because you are not looking for it."
Then another doctor, slightly Apu-ish with a friendly personality, "We don't know what is going on. We think he needs to be admitted to the hospital."
Admitted the hospital? "He has a cold!"
So around 8:00 pm tonight, we found ourselves admitting The Boy to the hospital.
Yes, my dear reader, you read that correctly, we spent about eight fucking hours hanging out in the emergency room. Eight glorious fun filled hours being scared and bullied by doctors who have never seen The Boy before, intimidated and made to doubt our judgement by doctors who have absolutely zero idea about The Boy and his unique medical conditions and needs.
These strangers somehow managed to convince The Wife and I that they know what is best for our child. We were spoke down to, as though we were children or incompetent. We were lectured and scolded. And we let them because they carry the title "Doctor" in front of their name and we are parents deeply concerned about the health of our son.
I have just returned from the hospital. I took the first part of the night shift. Around midnight The Wife arrived to spend the rest of the night.
The Boy is in the "intermediate care unit" at the hospital.
He has a cold.
Neither the Wife nor myself have ever been this angry at ourselves for letting doubt of our judgement interfere with our ability to assert it.
Damn, this whole parenting business is pretty danged hard.
This story is far from over. More later. . .
|
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