A Very Long Week

It's quiet in the house now. Ari and Sascha are both napping in our bed...it's the only way Ari can sleep with peace lately. With us. I'm enjoying a couple hours of quiet peace myself, having had my first shower in four days...but I think I finally got the hospital smell off me.

Almost three weeks ago, Ari had a vaccination shot and well-check at his pediatrician. That afternoon, the fevers started. Low grade at first, so I though it was simply a reaction to the shot. But they kept up. So I assumed he had caught a bug. Almost two weeks later, the numbers shot up past 104 and would reappear whenever the last shot of Motrin wore off, every six hours. Needless to say, worry set in and I took him to the doctor immediately. Two blood tests, a TB test and two antibiotic shots later, we were still clueless as to what was happening to our son...and the fevers reached 105, taking three hours to come back down.

Our doctor sent him to the hospital. With another burning fever, we arrived Wednesday evening, sparking off a series of traumatic and intrusive events that have taught our son a new thing. Pain. He knows pain now. Which breaks my heart. Several attempts at inserting an IV into a terrorized, tiny hand...the blood vessels shrinking into his body with his increasing anxiety. A blood draw. A catheter to catch a urine sample from a bone-dry bladder. Over a dozen vital checks and examinations. A bleeding diaper rash from antibiotic-induced diarrhea. A cystic fibrosis test. Two throat swabs and a nasal scraping. A chest x-ray. Another blood draw. The kid has track marks now.

A team of doctors (it's a teaching hospital) was assigned to our "complex case" and since test after test for different viruses kept proving negative, they began discussing fearful things such as autoimmune disease, rheumatic fever, cancer, even a mention of HIV. The Infectious Disease team was called in and asked question after question. A quarantine was placed on Ari's room and several people began wearing masks and yellow smocks when they walked in. Ari wasn't allowed to leave without a mask, which meant he would not be leaving the room. He doesn't like masks.

At some point Thursday evening, things began to shift. Ari came down from a sweat-soaked fit, let out a series of huge toots, looked at me, gave me one of those sweet Ari smiles and started digging into his toy bag. We laughed and played for two hours. That night, his fever didn't even reach 103. It took 13 hours until the next one hit, not even reaching 102. His mood improved drastically and he ate his pancakes for breakfast Friday morning. The medical team came in and discussed plans for the day, which ended up including a throat swab (again, for strep), blood test (checking for rheumatic fever), an EKG, an echocardiogram and a CT scan. The swab and blood test came back negative and one by one, the remaining tests were canceled, falling off the to-do list like chips of bark from an aging tree. Especially since his fevers had all but disappeared, it was determined that he did not have a serious condition and the theorized contagious pathogens they kept testing for all came back negative. The quarantine was removed and Ari bolted from the room with his IV tree flying behind him.

We could go home.

The nurse removed Ari's IV and brought his discharge papers, which I happily signed as we packed up the toy bag, our sweat-stained clothes and the diapers they had given us (door prize). At first, the act of undressing sent Ari into another fit of terror. He clung to his hospital gown and wouldn't even let it go once he was dressed in his own clothes. Ironically, he wouldn't leave the room...until I asked if he'd like to go bye-bye, see all of his own toys again and go for a car ride. "Jyeah." That means 'yes'. We walked to the car, being congratulated by the hospital staff (no doubt due to the weary grins on our faces) all the way...Ari's dirty hospital gown clutched in his adhesive-striped hands. He snored all the way home.

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So what are the things that I've learned from this week? I guess there are several.

First and foremost is that the little boy sleeping in the next room is the most important thing in the world. I read recently that our parents are our link to our past and our children are our link to the future. Duh, right? But it takes on a much deeper meaning when you fear you are in danger of losing one of those links. The internal void I felt at the thought that this could be very serious; the panic that shot my stomach into my head when I heard the word "cancer"; the mother-bear fury that almost sent me tearing into the nurse during the catheter and IV session; the helplessness and sorrow as my son screamed and screamed during his night terrors, panicked to get the IV restraints off his hand....All of this solidified and reinforced within me that I am a mother more than anything else in the world. Before a daughter, before a wife, before a massage therapist and independent woman, I am a mother. And that instinct and fury and love will drive me for the rest of my life.

Second, I learned that nurses can make or break your time in a hospital. We had one that caused much frustration but we had two that I'd like to adopt into my family...for their understanding that sometimes a parent knows best and for their confidence to stand up to doctors when they see orders are leaving a patient hurting. We had two doctors, as well, that I'd like to put on my New Years card list...for their compassion, their tenacity and their ability to look us in the eye and explain the good, the bad and the ugly for as long as it took us to understand.

Third, I learned that even though a 20 month old boy will fight his IV-wrapped hand all night, he will embrace it with wonder when his Mommy and Daddy express massive delight in it the next morning - and call it his "Magic Hand."

I have learned that children can develop a new kind of scream when they are terrified and hurting.

I have learned that kindness can come in the smallest of ways...the refusal of our attending physician and one nurse to wear a mask when entering Ari's room.

I have been humbled by the prayers sent out around this country for our son. And, as his symptoms subsided, as the tests dramatically became no longer necessary and as his smile resurfaced, I learned that prayers can change things. Thank you.

I have learned that a hospital crib can hold a fully grown adult as well as a toddler. Although a full night spent there is not very comfortable for the adult.

In the minutest, fraction of a way, I have a bit of an idea what parents go through when their child has a serious disease.

Finally, I have learned yet again how grateful I can be for the people I have and the place I am in in this life.