Tonight I'm feeling impressed to write about an experience that pushed me pretty close to my breaking point. It is still about a month fresh.
I have one son. He brings me so much joy. He and I have a wonderful relationship. He is a boy; he is crazy, energetic, happy, somber, serious, playful, thoughtful, protective, and loving. It makes me crazy and yet melts my heart when he says, "Mom, Mom, Mom, MOM, MOM...," in increasing volumes in an attempt to get my attention. When I finally say, "WHAT?!" he gets very serious and says, "I love you mom." He goes out of his way to make sure that I know he loves me, and helps me remember to seize opportunities to express my love to my children.
On Tuesday, November 14th I held Joy School at my house. We have a group of 5 kids that get together and learn how to learn. It was my turn to give the lesson and activities that week. Joy School ended at 11. Around 12:15 my mother-in-law came over to watch my kids so I could go volunteer at my daughters' school. By the time I got back a little bit after 1:00, she mentioned that she thought he had a fever. I really didn't think much of it, because he'd been acting fine all day. Pretty quickly I noticed he'd developed a barky, croup-like cough, and my baby wasn't doing so hot either. By 6:00 things had escalated to the point that I took them to the doctor's office. They both had fevers, they both had barky coughs, but my baby had strider (the term the doctors use when there is audible wheezing that can be heard within the chest cavity) and my son didn't, so they gave the baby a steroid to open her up and sent us home. The next day my baby had really remarkable improvement, but my son had seemed to get worse (but still no strider). By Thursday my baby was fine, but my son continued to go downhill. The fever had not eased up at all, he wasn't eating, he was barely drinking, he had goopy, crusty eyes, and on top of everything else, his breathing became very shallow and short. He wouldn't walk up and down stairs, or even get up to go to the bathroom by himself. He has asthma, so I gave him a couple nebulizer treatments to try and ease his breathing, which initially seemed to help, but then within 30 minutes or so, he'd return to the former condition.
I called the pediatrician's office and asked to speak with a nurse. The nurse looked at the notes from the doctor and told us that if he was still running a fever in 5 days we should bring him in. I mentioned that I was worried about his breathing and she said, "Well, that's a part of croup, but if you are worried he isn't getting enough air bring him in." I wasn't sure what to do. I didn't really feel like paying for another doctor visit just to have them tell me he was sick and send us home. I decided to give it one more night.
Friday morning came and nothing had really changed. If anything he was just steadily getting worse. I decided to give the nebulizer treatments one more try. I have him three in a row; one at 1:00, 2:00, and 3:00. Nothing changed. There wasn't even the illusion that they were helping any more. By 4:00 I took him to the pediatrician, thinking that he'd simply need an oral steroid to help him breathe and then we'd be able to come home. I carried him into the doctor's office, and when the put a pulse oximeter on him to check his oxygen saturation, he was at about 80%. Next thing I know the nurse and the doctor were running in and out of the room grabbing oxygen tanks and tubes, giving me instructions, to which I quickly obeyed. In the midst of all this the doctor walked in and said, "I've called an ambulance. They will be here shortly. Which hospital would you prefer they take you to?" As my brain and my mouth tried to coordinate an answer, I dealt with immediate feelings of shame and guilt. What kind of mother am I? How could I have let him get this bad? Why didn't I just take him to the emergency room? All I kept telling myself was, "Don't you dare cry. Don't you dare cry." My baby needed me to be okay so that he could feel safe as we went to the hospital. My face burned and I lowered my eyes to avoid the stares we got as I followed the EMTs back through the peditrician's waiting room and outside to the ambulance.
I was texting my mother, and my husband trying to let everyone know what was going on. I was supposed to be at a dress rehearsal that night for a production that I was in the next day, so I texted the director and told him I wouldn't be there. After getting to the ER they did a chest x-ray, took some blood, got an IV in him and told me to plan on admission. I still wasn't even sure what was going on. When the chest x-ray came back they told me it was pneumonia. My dad brought me dinner and gave him a priesthood blessing. A hospital representative took my insurance information and asked me to make an up-front payment. The doctor came in and asked me more questions when he typed what I said into a computer. The nurse came in to increase his oxygen and ask if we needed anything. Nobody gave me anything to do. I wanted was to feel like I was helping him; but I was kidding myself. I was helpless. I couldn't bring myself turn on the TV while I waited. Entertainment seemed to mock the fact that my son was hurting, and reinforce the fact that I'd been an awful mother.
They took us upstairs to the pediatric floor, got us settled, and then left us alone. I couldn't sleep. My son couldn't sleep. We watched a movie. My husband called and convinced me to let him come and stay with our son so I could get some sleep. I was still supposed to be in the play the next day. I walked away from his hospital bed trying to at least clear the building before the tears escaped. How can you be so selfish? What kind of mother am I? My self-deprecating thoughts did not have an off button, despite the fact that most of me just felt numb.
I went home, I somewhat slept, I packed, went back to the hospital, and then left for call for the play. The whole thing was a blur. When the play was over, I raced back to the hospital and told my husband I wasn't leaving again. The doctors came in and told us that the results of his blood draw; RSV and Coronavirus had caused the pneumonia. Because it was all viral, all we could do was wait it out. A couple days passed, and nothing changed. His oxygen levels weren't stable. If he pulled out his oxygen tubes at all his oxygen saturation would drop down into the 70's within seconds. He couldn't breathe. They were pumping him with so much oxygen that his nose would fill with blood that they'd have to suck out, just to put more oxygen right back in his nose. He wasn't eating, he wasn't drinking, he would just lay there, hardly moving, struggling to breathe. Just when we thought he was showing improvement, he would regress quite dramatically and we'd be back at square one. I was sleeping in about 2 hour increments, if that. Alarms would go off regularly as his oxygen levels weren't getting better. My nerves were on edge. A nurse came in and told me they were going to do a blood gas. If the results weren't good, they would be life-flighting him to Primary Children's hospital.
That night, I lay there not sleeping, listening to his little body breathe in and out, and I started to pray. I needed to talk. I needed to comfort. I wasn't even sure what to pray for. I didn't know what God wanted for my son. I didn't know if I dare ask for him to get better, because I couldn't bear the thought of him not answering that plea. It may sound dramatic, but in the back of my mind, there was this doubt that said, what if he doesn't get better? I begged Him to tell me what to do. Please help him, please help me. Please let your will be done and give me the strength to do what you need.
The results of the blood gas came back and they were good. We didn't have to move him for now.
The next morning I felt very clearly that something I could do was get him to stay hydrated. At first he was very resistant. He was having a hard time taking fluids because everything was hurting his tummy. When I asked him what drink he wanted he said "Powerade," (that's the sick drink we use at our house when they have upset tummies) so we opted for Gatorade, because that's what the hospital had. His favorite color is orange, so I chose the orange flavor and told him it was an orange drink just for him. Slowly, he started taking the tiniest of sips whenever I would offer it. So, I decided that every time he coughed (which was pretty frequently), I would offer him a drink. We did it all that day and I stayed up with him that night, watching movies and offering him fluids. We got a good routine down. After a little bit, he would cough and then open his mouth so I could put the straw in his mouth for a drink. Halfway through the night he finally fell asleep and got a good stretch of about 6 hours of sleep. When he woke up the next morning, he actually smiled at me. It was like I saw him for the first time in nearly a week. He reached out, took my hand and said, "I love you mom."
That morning he turned a corner that led to his steady improvement. He and I worked together to pump his little body with as much liquid as he could stand. I really believe routine with his fluids was what enabled the turning point in his recovery. It was the answer to a prayer that I didn't even know how to utter. While he still needed oxygen, they released him the day before Thanksgiving, exactly one month ago today, so that we could be together for the holidays.
It was a miracle to me. It was God knowing the feelings of my heart that I couldn't express in words. It was seeing the strength of my son even at his most vulnerable. His body was weak and that was when I really saw just how strong he is. He is full of faith and trust and love. I thank Heavenly Father he blessed me with that little boy.
I have one son. He brings me so much joy. He and I have a wonderful relationship. He is a boy; he is crazy, energetic, happy, somber, serious, playful, thoughtful, protective, and loving. It makes me crazy and yet melts my heart when he says, "Mom, Mom, Mom, MOM, MOM...," in increasing volumes in an attempt to get my attention. When I finally say, "WHAT?!" he gets very serious and says, "I love you mom." He goes out of his way to make sure that I know he loves me, and helps me remember to seize opportunities to express my love to my children.
On Tuesday, November 14th I held Joy School at my house. We have a group of 5 kids that get together and learn how to learn. It was my turn to give the lesson and activities that week. Joy School ended at 11. Around 12:15 my mother-in-law came over to watch my kids so I could go volunteer at my daughters' school. By the time I got back a little bit after 1:00, she mentioned that she thought he had a fever. I really didn't think much of it, because he'd been acting fine all day. Pretty quickly I noticed he'd developed a barky, croup-like cough, and my baby wasn't doing so hot either. By 6:00 things had escalated to the point that I took them to the doctor's office. They both had fevers, they both had barky coughs, but my baby had strider (the term the doctors use when there is audible wheezing that can be heard within the chest cavity) and my son didn't, so they gave the baby a steroid to open her up and sent us home. The next day my baby had really remarkable improvement, but my son had seemed to get worse (but still no strider). By Thursday my baby was fine, but my son continued to go downhill. The fever had not eased up at all, he wasn't eating, he was barely drinking, he had goopy, crusty eyes, and on top of everything else, his breathing became very shallow and short. He wouldn't walk up and down stairs, or even get up to go to the bathroom by himself. He has asthma, so I gave him a couple nebulizer treatments to try and ease his breathing, which initially seemed to help, but then within 30 minutes or so, he'd return to the former condition.
I called the pediatrician's office and asked to speak with a nurse. The nurse looked at the notes from the doctor and told us that if he was still running a fever in 5 days we should bring him in. I mentioned that I was worried about his breathing and she said, "Well, that's a part of croup, but if you are worried he isn't getting enough air bring him in." I wasn't sure what to do. I didn't really feel like paying for another doctor visit just to have them tell me he was sick and send us home. I decided to give it one more night.
Friday morning came and nothing had really changed. If anything he was just steadily getting worse. I decided to give the nebulizer treatments one more try. I have him three in a row; one at 1:00, 2:00, and 3:00. Nothing changed. There wasn't even the illusion that they were helping any more. By 4:00 I took him to the pediatrician, thinking that he'd simply need an oral steroid to help him breathe and then we'd be able to come home. I carried him into the doctor's office, and when the put a pulse oximeter on him to check his oxygen saturation, he was at about 80%. Next thing I know the nurse and the doctor were running in and out of the room grabbing oxygen tanks and tubes, giving me instructions, to which I quickly obeyed. In the midst of all this the doctor walked in and said, "I've called an ambulance. They will be here shortly. Which hospital would you prefer they take you to?" As my brain and my mouth tried to coordinate an answer, I dealt with immediate feelings of shame and guilt. What kind of mother am I? How could I have let him get this bad? Why didn't I just take him to the emergency room? All I kept telling myself was, "Don't you dare cry. Don't you dare cry." My baby needed me to be okay so that he could feel safe as we went to the hospital. My face burned and I lowered my eyes to avoid the stares we got as I followed the EMTs back through the peditrician's waiting room and outside to the ambulance.
I was texting my mother, and my husband trying to let everyone know what was going on. I was supposed to be at a dress rehearsal that night for a production that I was in the next day, so I texted the director and told him I wouldn't be there. After getting to the ER they did a chest x-ray, took some blood, got an IV in him and told me to plan on admission. I still wasn't even sure what was going on. When the chest x-ray came back they told me it was pneumonia. My dad brought me dinner and gave him a priesthood blessing. A hospital representative took my insurance information and asked me to make an up-front payment. The doctor came in and asked me more questions when he typed what I said into a computer. The nurse came in to increase his oxygen and ask if we needed anything. Nobody gave me anything to do. I wanted was to feel like I was helping him; but I was kidding myself. I was helpless. I couldn't bring myself turn on the TV while I waited. Entertainment seemed to mock the fact that my son was hurting, and reinforce the fact that I'd been an awful mother.
They took us upstairs to the pediatric floor, got us settled, and then left us alone. I couldn't sleep. My son couldn't sleep. We watched a movie. My husband called and convinced me to let him come and stay with our son so I could get some sleep. I was still supposed to be in the play the next day. I walked away from his hospital bed trying to at least clear the building before the tears escaped. How can you be so selfish? What kind of mother am I? My self-deprecating thoughts did not have an off button, despite the fact that most of me just felt numb.
I went home, I somewhat slept, I packed, went back to the hospital, and then left for call for the play. The whole thing was a blur. When the play was over, I raced back to the hospital and told my husband I wasn't leaving again. The doctors came in and told us that the results of his blood draw; RSV and Coronavirus had caused the pneumonia. Because it was all viral, all we could do was wait it out. A couple days passed, and nothing changed. His oxygen levels weren't stable. If he pulled out his oxygen tubes at all his oxygen saturation would drop down into the 70's within seconds. He couldn't breathe. They were pumping him with so much oxygen that his nose would fill with blood that they'd have to suck out, just to put more oxygen right back in his nose. He wasn't eating, he wasn't drinking, he would just lay there, hardly moving, struggling to breathe. Just when we thought he was showing improvement, he would regress quite dramatically and we'd be back at square one. I was sleeping in about 2 hour increments, if that. Alarms would go off regularly as his oxygen levels weren't getting better. My nerves were on edge. A nurse came in and told me they were going to do a blood gas. If the results weren't good, they would be life-flighting him to Primary Children's hospital.
That night, I lay there not sleeping, listening to his little body breathe in and out, and I started to pray. I needed to talk. I needed to comfort. I wasn't even sure what to pray for. I didn't know what God wanted for my son. I didn't know if I dare ask for him to get better, because I couldn't bear the thought of him not answering that plea. It may sound dramatic, but in the back of my mind, there was this doubt that said, what if he doesn't get better? I begged Him to tell me what to do. Please help him, please help me. Please let your will be done and give me the strength to do what you need.
The results of the blood gas came back and they were good. We didn't have to move him for now.
The next morning I felt very clearly that something I could do was get him to stay hydrated. At first he was very resistant. He was having a hard time taking fluids because everything was hurting his tummy. When I asked him what drink he wanted he said "Powerade," (that's the sick drink we use at our house when they have upset tummies) so we opted for Gatorade, because that's what the hospital had. His favorite color is orange, so I chose the orange flavor and told him it was an orange drink just for him. Slowly, he started taking the tiniest of sips whenever I would offer it. So, I decided that every time he coughed (which was pretty frequently), I would offer him a drink. We did it all that day and I stayed up with him that night, watching movies and offering him fluids. We got a good routine down. After a little bit, he would cough and then open his mouth so I could put the straw in his mouth for a drink. Halfway through the night he finally fell asleep and got a good stretch of about 6 hours of sleep. When he woke up the next morning, he actually smiled at me. It was like I saw him for the first time in nearly a week. He reached out, took my hand and said, "I love you mom."
That morning he turned a corner that led to his steady improvement. He and I worked together to pump his little body with as much liquid as he could stand. I really believe routine with his fluids was what enabled the turning point in his recovery. It was the answer to a prayer that I didn't even know how to utter. While he still needed oxygen, they released him the day before Thanksgiving, exactly one month ago today, so that we could be together for the holidays.
It was a miracle to me. It was God knowing the feelings of my heart that I couldn't express in words. It was seeing the strength of my son even at his most vulnerable. His body was weak and that was when I really saw just how strong he is. He is full of faith and trust and love. I thank Heavenly Father he blessed me with that little boy.
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