Fear

It's just after midnight Sunday morning.  Normally, we'd all be asleep anticipating a lazy day ahead of us filled with lots of family time, some home cooking, and a soccer game.  Instead, I'm riding down the highway counting the miles down from 26 to 1 as we slowly get closer to our destination.  I look out the passenger window to see if my husband is driving alongside, but really knowing he's probably ahead of us.  This ambulance is driving so. damn. slow...  I strain around the other way to get a peek of what's happening behind me.  "He's in good hands," the driver assures me, "this is a great team." 

I hear snippets of muffled conversation from the back, but nothing I can make sense of.  My mind wanders back to just 14 hours earlier when I was laying on a massage table without a care in the world.  Feeling guilty for even thinking about the hours I took a break from parenting, I snap myself back to the present and what is going on... but what is going on?  I have no idea, and every minute that goes by, every exit we pass on a road I've driven a million times feels completely unfamiliar and a little bit scary. The sight of my son, tiny, helpless, and confused, strapped down to a stretcher will forever be burned in my mind...

Let's back up a bit here.  Last Thursday was such a great day.  With record highs and outside, I took a lunchtime run to blow off steam and finished up work in time to leave with the sun still up.  I danced out the door ready for my four day weekend with my boy.  I picked him up from daycare and the teachers raved about how much fun he had.  When I gave him a hug his buddha belly peeked out beneath his shirt, revealing a few red bumps.  Hmm.  Must be brushburn from the slide or some bug bites.  That's odd. 

On the way home, we discussed our plans, Friday would be Mommy / Gobbles day at the park - we've never been to the park together (I know, ok?).  Saturday will be Mommy's day out with a friend followed by all of us seeing our friends that night, including Lil Buddy.  Sunday would be family day, and Monday we'd head to the Please Touch Museum.  So much fun to be had!

After his bath, a few more little bumps showed up on the Gobbler's butt.  We called my mom, school teacher by day, children's medical expert by night.  She suggested not giving him his amoxicillan just in case before putting him to bed, but a couple of hives may just be from something he ate.  Yea, a couple of hives.  The little man fussed through the night but nothing more than requiring a paci plug or in-the-dark diaper change.  Gobbles woke up unusually early for the day, and though I walked in groggy eyed, I was jolted awake by the look of him.  A rash from head to toe, my poor little boy looked like Woogie from Something About Mary. 

Hubs quickly called the Dr, but the on-call never called us back.  A few more calls to the answering service yielded nothing, and finally as they were opening someone said they could see us mid-morning.  Not good enough, so we packed up and went to the ER.

After a short wait and a few questions, the doctors came to the conclusion that Gobbles was having an allergic reaction to his amoxicillan.  No matter that he had been on it for 10 days back in January with no problem.  Nor that it was his 9th day on it before any hives showed up, they explained how the antibodies formed and began to fight the drug.  Erythema Multiforme Minor, they called it.  Benedryl every 6 hours for two days and he should be ok.  The rash may last a few weeks, but he should be fine.

Besides, he was acting, fine - chillin in the ER eating a snack.  You know, all's good.

Ay?  You gots a problem heyah?  Didn't think so... where's mah paci?

Mmmm Fishies!

So off we went home, and hubs to work, deciding that Mommy/Gobbles day in the park can wait for another day.  Besides, it's a bit cloudy outside anyway.  He slept most of Friday due to the benedryl but during the time he was awake we played and played as if there were no problem.  Lots of extra hugs and kisses were required though.

Saturday started off as normal as could be.  I was excited for my mom's day out and Gobbles was excited for alone time with Daddy.  I was concerned because the rash had moved, but hubs had since become an expert thanks to Google and said this was ok, just as long is it didn't look worse.

Nothing to be concerned about Momma!  Well, except maybe that booger.  I mean, a tissue could help, right?

So off I went with my Momma friend and we pretended we do this kind of stuff all the time.  A massage and lunch, thank you.  Because really, we could definitely use pampering like that every weekend!  I allowed myself to get lost in our morning even though conversation inevitably went back to kids because, well, that's just where we are and what's surrounding us at this time.  Most of our friends have either been knocked up, are currently knocked up, or have newly minted sparklers on their left hands as the first step to someday in the future becoming knocked up. 

When I got home from my little date, Gobbles was down for his nap as expected, and the rest of the afternoon was pretty low key.  When he woke up we gave him a special aveeno oatmeal bath to ease the itching.  It worked temporarily.  For dinner, the little man loved his chicken and baked potato, which he ate in no time.  Drinking?  That was another story.  No sippies, no bottles, no big boy cups, no nothing.  Everything we tried was rejected.  At bedtime, we noticed he was a little warm, and took at temp of 102.  Not typically high for him, but the discharge instructions from the day before said to call the dr for anything over 101. 

Thankfully the on-call got back to us within minutes, just as Gobbles began dozing in his crib.  After hubs answered a few questions about the state of the rash, which had kind of turned purple, we were told it'd be best to head back to the ER.  Assuming it would be similar to the day before's visit, we grabbed a few things, woke up the baby, and were out the door.  Unfortunately, nothing was the same.

The hospital was hopping for 9:00 on a Saturday night, but the on-call had phoned ahead to let them know we were coming, and he was taken back right away.  Five minutes with my kid and the doctors said they couldn't help him there, and they were ordering a transfer to a nearby children's hospital. 

While waiting for the transfer, they decided to get the labs going and start him on IV fluids.  They needed both hubs and myself, plus a second nurse to hold down my confused, fidgety baby while they poked him first in the inner elbow and next on the back of the hand trying to draw blood.  With each new poke, my son remained silent but for a small whimper and began to pull back his free hand which I was holding down with all my might.  I couldn't look him in the eye as this was happening, I felt horrible for being a part of it.

The IV was in place, secured by tape, a splint, gauze, more tape, and eventually a plastic cap (all to stop curious hands from ripping it out).  We stood up relieved, and hubs quickly sat back down, almost passing out.  He had not been so devoid of color since the moment I got my Epidural on Gobbles' birthday.  After we all calmed down a bit, we took turns attempting to rock the baby to sleep.  He was exhausted, but too interested in what was going on and too uncomfortable to just pass out even though it was way past his bedtime. 

During our wait for the ambulance, one of the nurses came in and pressed a small coin into my hand.  I give these angels to people who need them.  Good luck.  I looked at her, confused, but before I could say anything she was gone.  I know she meant no harm, but that actually made me feel like I had a reason to be scared, when before I just always assumed we'd be fine.

After we got to the children's hospital, time picked up, or slowed down, or maybe it was just so much waiting and waiting that I don't have anything to say, but by now we were delirious and everything the doctors said to us was running together.  Gobbles still hadn't gone to sleep but for 15 minutes during the ambulance ride, and was only content laying on one of our chests at a very specific angle.  Sometime after 3 we were told that he would be admitted for having Steven Johnson's Syndrome, so hubs sent me home to let the dogs out and get some rest.  God bless him for staying there with Gobbles the whole time, my rock.

I'll admit, I have driven after putting down a beer or two before, and looking back, that state is so much safer then driving when you are so completely physically, mentally, and emotionally exhausted but also wide awake with worry.  The highway was completely deserted and somehow I convinced myself that the stories I've heard on the news about someone driving the wrong way was destined to happen during the ride home.  I took each curve with caution trying to figure out where I'd veer off to if necessary.  At least that's what I remember from the drive.  Like I said, kind of delirious.

I slept on and off for about 4 hours when daylight began to stream into the room.  I decided I needed to get back to see my son.  Still drained, it took me a good 20 minutes to figure out how to pack a shirt for hubs, an outfit for Gobbs, and some toys.

I drove as quickly as I could into the sun-shiny day, passing the time on the highway by chatting with my sisters on the phone as I drove.  Gobbles was in a shared room that was partitioned by a privacy curtain.  When I walked in, my son's face said it all...

Momma I missed you

And I've learned to function without my left arm!

All smiles for a boy in a hospital bed, what?

Yup, after just a few hours, lots of fluids, and grease all over me I feel great!

Yea, I guess my legs still look a little rough, but I 'm still smiling :)

After spending a few minutes with my happy little guy I realized everything was going to be alright.  We got lots of hugs and kisses, and they soon disconnected him from the fluids to see how he'd do drinking on his own.  We all took a brief nap, then ordered Gobbles some lunch.  Let's just say they call him Gobbles for more than one reason...

Ugh. Tastes like cardboard

This kinda tastes like cardboard too, but it has pizza sauce. MMMMMMMmmmm!

The nurses even brought a friend to have lunch with me.

Nom nom nom.

While Gobbles ate, hubs ran out to find some lunch for us.  The doctors told me if he drank well he could be discharged by the evening.  Upon hearing this news, I began cheering every time the little man took a sip. 

Then I heard it from behind the curtain... Nicky, why don't we read our cards from our friends again?  Gobbles' roommate was a small boy about 6ish, and had spent most of his time sleeping with his dad by his side.  I began to hear conversation that just ripped my heart out.  The boy's father began to read cards from relatives, various doctors, and friends.  When the nurses came in to check on him, I learned that he'd been in that room, in the bed, for 3 weeks.  Based on the meds they were giving him, he was not in good shape.  As the father continued talking lovingly to his son, I began to well up.  Sorrow for what that family must be going through.  Guilt, that I made such a big deal about my little guy when he was going to be fine.  Sadness, that we were probably not the only roommate that this boy has seen come and go in less than a day.  Every parents' worst fears were being lived out by the man on the other side of the room.

I squeezed my son a little closer in those moments, and every moment since.  By Monday evening, although still running a fever, showing traces of a rash, and having bloodshot eyes, my son was just about back to himself.  Each day after has been even better, and it's now been a week since the first red bumps arrived.  The result?  No amoxicillan / penicillan ever again, and just a few tired parents, who have a renewed gratefulness for what they have been blessed with.  My heart still aches for the little roommate, who I cannot get off my mind.  I hope and pray that he and his family pull through and come out ok.

Love you everybody! Thanks for the well wishes - as you can see I'm back to being good ol' Gobbles :)