Dear Blog,
I don’t have time for you! We had such great expectations for each other, and now I sadly must promise nothing. If you get attention from me every 6 weeks, you’re doing well.
All the best,
Sigh. We’re mid-semester. Four classes, four labs, no time to do anything. I sleep little nowadays. I drink coffee in the shower and clip my nails in the car. Somehow, things are getting done. Somehow.
The Boy spent three days in the hospital a few weeks ago. He’d had an ear infection. We went to the pediatrician on a Tuesday and got antibiotics. Although his doctor recommended a two-week follow-up, we went back nine days later, as The Boy was still rubbing his ears. “He’s fine,” I was assured.
Saturday, the fever was back. Sunday, we headed to the emergency room.
Now, Canada has socialized medicine, and I don’t know it any other way. I know the emergency room is ideally for emergencies only (say, a sucking chest wound). I know walk-ins are for things that are pressing (a sinus infection, a flu, a rash), and family doctors are for everything else. But.. my baby was sick. His fever wasn’t going down, and I’ve heard that if you’re under a year old, it’s worth a trip to the emergency room.
I packed a bag. We bustled in, and I explained to the triage nurses how his fever wasn’t breaking. The took his temperature immediately: 98.6. On we went to the waiting room for who-knew-how-long. There were eight others there with similar life-threatening emergencies. They laughed and joked and did crosswords while waiting to see a doctor. While I wondered how sick they could possibly be, I bounced a healthy, 98.6-degree baby on my lap who laughed and played and drank his juice. (I never give him juice. But he hadn’t been keeping milk down!)
We were called in about a half hour later, which was not too bad of a wait, and perhaps The Boy got in sooner than the other “emergencies” due to his age. We sat in the next waiting room (I suppose it’s an observation room. But it always just feels like a smaller waiting room, really) and waited to see the doctor. The Boy’s temperature was up to 100.5. He napped. We waited two hours in that room.
And then The Boy got really sick.
His temperature jumped to 104 and stalled. (See? Mommy really wasn’t making it up!) We saw a pediatrician within minutes (his very same!) who decided The Boy was dehydrated, still had his ear infection (because clearly it was gone 3 days prior when he’d seen it last?) and had gotten the wrong medication. Which yes, was essentially like putting a Snoopy bandaid on a sucking chest wound. His bacterial infection had just gotten worse and worse, and had now spread. The pediatrician bustled off to get stronger antibiotics. The Boy had a dose, and roughly 10 seconds later, it was everywhere. All over him, me, the floor, and the medical equipment, along with the 10 or so ounces of juice he’d sucked back.
So… The Boy was admitted. Before I brought him up to pediatrics, two lab techs came in to take his blood. I noticed the one with the needle in his hand had the index finger of his glove cut out, exposing his bare skin. I asked why he’d done that. He said, “I can feel the veins better.” I said.. “Ummm.. but aren’t you supposed to wear gloves?” He said, “Don’t worry. I don’t have anything. And I know your baby doesn’t either.”
I snapped, really. He was taking blood. My BABY’s blood. He assured me that I was the only one in all his years who had ever raised a fuss. “So.. essentially you’ve NEVER worn gloves to take blood?”
He put on a fresh pair. Two more lab techs came in, this time to insert an IV in those tiny little veins. They bumbled around like the Two Stooges. They dropped butterfly clips. They missed — and dug for — those tiny little veins, all the while making my tiny, sick little boy scream.
We made it up to pediatrics. The Boy was placed in isolation, which meant he couldn’t leave his room for any reason, and everyone who entered had to wear a fresh hospital robe and take it off before they left the room.
Now, I’m all for 18 hours in the hospital. It’s fun. People check on you. You never have to cook. You get fussed over and are the center of attention for a few minutes in the morning when the doctors make their rounds. But once you hit that 18-hour mark, the fun runs out. It really does. So on day two, I left The Boy sleeping in his room and stepped outside for some fresh air. I chatted up a woman on the sidewalk, who also clearly needed a break from her day. She told me she was in to visit so-and-so who had surgery, etc. I told her my Boy was sick, and I needed some air. I told her how I was going insane on a beautiful day, and was angry he’d gotten the wrong medication that led to all this.
She told me about her friend. Who also had a baby on pediatrics. The baby, at 6 weeks old, had stopped breathing at home. Her parents rushed her in, but being first-time parents, didn’t really know how serious the situation was. And that baby’s 6-week-old heart stopped. Then her brain. She was on life support upstairs, and they were waiting to pull the plug. (I saw a couple leaving later that night. Empty carseat in hand. Heartwrenching.)
I put on my big girl panties and headed up to The Boy. Who yes, had an ear infection, and yes, it sucked that there was nothing to do and Mommy was missing 3 days of school that would take her 2 weeks to catch up on. But he would be fine. And most things are best in perspective.
On the second night, a nurse ran into our room. The Boy was crying on my lap. He was tired or feeling sick or otherwise unhappy. He still had his IV in, and couldn’t leave the boundary of where that cord reached, much less his hospital room. She said, “Hi, I’m just filling in for a few minutes.” (I will add, she was not wearing the isolation room signature gown.) “How is Hailey doing?”
I asked her to repeat herself. “How is she doing?” I said.. pointing.. “This is a boy.” She said, “Oh. How is he doing?” She snapped a syringe into his IV pole, and before she programmed it to course through his little veins, I said, “Umm.. did you say ‘Hailey?’ This is not ‘Hailey.’ This is a boy. And his name is not ‘Hailey.’”
She blamed me. Clearly it was my fault when she didn’t check his hospital bracelet, or even the name on the empty syringe she’d just removed from his IV pole. Clearly it was my fault that he almost got enough codiene for a 7-year-old CANCER kid, Hailey. Good. Lord.
The Boy recovered. He’s as healthy as ever, and has two teeth! Still not crawling, but I imagine it will come in the next 2 – 3 weeks.
The Girl? She’s loving Kindergarten. She’s learning more than I think I ever will. She’s great at math and is really working hard at printing and sight-reading. She has 30 minutes of homework every night: 15 minutes of reading in English, and 15 minutes in French. 30 minutes? I’m all for her education. All for it. But I don’t have 30 minutes at night to do ANYthing. So we read one story per night. And alternate between French and English. I do wonder what happens in those 4 hours she’s at school every day. 30… minutes? Sigh.
Oh yeah, and it snowed. 
