There are days when I am overjoyed to be Brandt's mom, days when I wish time could just stand still, when I want to cherish every last minute with my little boy.
With the start of Thanksgiving break, we hit the ground running with memorable moments. We spent countless hours at the park, playing outside, and riding the bike--things we usually can't do because he is sick. It felt so nice to be carefree and let loose. We read book after book and played with every toy imaginable. We made giant messes and didn't even think of cleaning up. He was smiling, laughing, gabbering--nonstop.
In fact, the gabbering has become more frequent over the past few weeks, and the gibberish is turning into precious words of hope. He says:
Dada
Mama
Uh oh
Duh-- dog
Doe--door
Shu--shoe or sock (LOL)
Nigh-Nigh-- night night
Yea--yes
Nuh--no
Moe--more
Jew--juice
Me--milk
You--yucky
With each word he has said, I have been ecstatic! He even responds to simple commands and questions like:
Let's go get a bath/ brush teeth/ get clean diaper/ get drink/ take medicine / sit in chair. Did you go poo-poo/ pee-pee? Do you want a snack/ a drink/ go night-night?
He's so stinking smart, and so darn cute! I've loved every minute of the break with him, and he has amazed me with his all-of-the-sudden vocabulary and direction.
That is, until therapy brought me back down to reality. Today was my first time to meet the speech therapist in person, and it was Brandt's third session with her. The therapist stated that those little jewels, which I call words, are merely approximations. And, while that is great, we need to focus on getting full words. But, in order to get full words, Brandt has to imitate sounds--something your average baby would start to do around 8months--which Brandt still does not do.
The therapist has also been using a oral sensory brush, which we've been doing at home too, but we're getting a lot of resistance from Brandt. And, for Brandt's biting difficulty, it was suggested that we consult a dentist about the alignment of his teeth and jaw--sure, I'll just add that to the list.
I'm not going to go into too much details on the rest of the speech therapy session, as the therapist just so happens to be close friends with one of my friends, but I will say that the session did not go so well and left Brandt very frustrated. I also hit a degree os setback, having confirmation of things I merely suspected. I hope Brandt can learn to warm up to her, and maybe he will be more receptive to when I am not present. She definately knows what she is doing and has a variety of techniques and great tools. Still, the whole session just really shattered my joy and left me feeling sunken and defeated. And, for a few days after, left me in a funk--but what else is new?!?!
Luckily, with Brandt, we have learned to not focus on all the things he should be doing but to appreciate what he can do and how hard he worked to get where he is. We press forward with the hope that he IS learning, just at his own pace. He is my amazing little boy, and I love him for all that he is and does!
Sunday, November 25, 2012
Thursday, November 8, 2012
Admitted
We can never just have a simple cold or infection. Whereas most kids go to the doctor once, get an antibiotic, and recover, Brandt usually requires two to three office visits, one ER visit, and like five different medications. With each illness, we usually spend $300 in copays to get him better. Pretty typical for us. But, this time trumps all others.
It was almost two weeks ago when Darrin was complaining to the daycare about a sick kid being at school. The director shrugged it off and said that they could not send home every kid with a runny nose and cough. Two days later, Brandt had a green, snotty nose. Knowing that Brandt has asthma and chronic sinusitis, we quickly took him to see the pediatrician last Friday. The doctor prescribed Omnicef, along with his breathing treatments. As the weekend went on, however, he worsened. He developed a productive cough, rapid breathing, inability to sleep, and a persistent fever. Brandt was coughing and crying all night. First thing Monday, Darrin had him back at the pediatrician's for another check. A chest X-ray found a large amount of fluid in his lungs, and he was switched to Augmentin. Fevers still continued, so we alternated Advil and Tylenol--but that was only ridding the fever for a couple hours at a time.
Finally, Wednesday night we could see that Brandt was not getting any better. He was continuously crying, and the only time he was comfortable was during his breathing treatments--which he would fall asleep during. We called the doctor, and they said Brandt would need to be seen again and have another chest X-ray. We decided to take him in first thing Thursday morning. Yet, we still had to make it through the night. It was a long night with no sleep. Fevers continued to soar, while fatigue was rapidly plaguing my exhausted body. At 2:00am, Darrin came in to take over. We talked for a bit and decided that something was seriously wrong. The antibiotics clearly weren't working, and Brandt was just getting worse. Darrin decided to take Brandt to the ER.
The ER did another chest X-ray and compared it to the X-ray from Monday (since our pediatrician and the hospital are in the same medical group, the previous X-ray was on file). They found that even more fluid was continuing to fill his lungs. Immediately, they wanted to run an IV for steroids and antibiotics. Only, with Brandt being such a "healthy" boy, they had a difficult time finding his veins. They stuck him in one site, wiggled and jiggled the needle around, but weren't able to make contact with the vein. They repeated this in three other sites before they finally got the IV hooked up to his foot. In the other foot, a respiratory monitor tracked the oxygen levels in Brandt's toe.
After contacting our pediatrician, the hospital decided to admit Brandt to the main hospital for pneumonia. But, because we weren't at the main hospital, we had to wait for an ambulance to transport us. I rode in the ambulance with Brandt while my mom and Darrin drove behind.
Once we finally arrived at the main hospital's pediatric tower, we were taken to a respiratory and observation unit to stay. It was a very intimidating room. We were greeted by a giant jail-like crib with an oxygen tent around it. Two shaded windows allowed the doctors and nurses to observe his vitals and behavior--in the event that respiration should start to decline. But, this was our home for the next few days, so we tried to make the most out of it.
The following 60 hours was all just a blur--partially because of exhaustion and partially because it was just one giant disaster after another.
The first night was exceptionally rough. Monitors were sounding every half hour. Sometimes it was the respiratory monitor slipping off his toe, while other times his respiration would dip. Still, other times, the IV line would become obstructed. Nurses were in and out for vitals, and the respiratory therapist was in every four hours for breathing treatments.
The next morning, the IV, which was so cleverly placed in Brandt's foot, got ripped out while he was sleeping. It took thirty minutes and attempts at five different sites before the nurses got another IV in. And by the time that was done, Brandt was soaked in sweat and passed out in my arms. Only, this time the IV was in the bend of his arm, and two hours later, it popped out again. Back to hunting for veins. Problem was, they had already collapsed three veins and bruised many others. The nurse tried wiggling and jiggling the needle at two sites before she finally decided enough was enough. And during all of these, Brandt was screaming, and fighting, and calling out "muh-muh" while I was having to hold him down. It was awful.
The second night was much easier. We were no longer awakened by monitor alarms, and Brandt's breathing was finally stable. The nurse and respiratory therapist still made their rounds. But, then, since he no longer had an IV for meds, this meant shots instead. And, there is nothing more heart-wrenching than holding your baby down at midnight while he gets two shots of antibiotics. It was too much, although much quicker than the thirty minutes of exploratory vein hunts for the IV. Still, I got some sleep, and my mom stayed with me to help.
But, by the third morning, we had all had enough. Brandt was tired of being restricted to the jail crib, I was mentally broken, and Darrin was bored with his TV selections (haha). We had been living off take-out, and the room seemed to be shrinking more and more by the minute.
And, FINALLY, at 1:00PM Saturday, we got the green light to go home. Of course they sent us home with some new antibiotics and steroids, and we have to continue breathing treatments every four hours. We also have to return to the pediatrician for a check-up on Monday. Still, I was so happy--I could've given that nurse the biggest hug of her life.
Oh, but if you want a good laugh, I got one for you! Every time, we requested more diapers and wipes, I would pack away some of the diapers! So, I ended up coming home with 50 free diapers--not to mention the like 100 free diapers the IV made him soak through in the three days we were there! I figured they were getting pretty rich off me anyway--150 diapers wasn't really setting them back much. :P
So, here is the tally thus far:
Three office visits: $60
Ambulance ride: TBA
Impatient Care: $500
Five antibiotics/steroids: $50
Two Breathing meds: $40
Take-out/Dining: $150
Having a healthy son: PRICELESS!
It was almost two weeks ago when Darrin was complaining to the daycare about a sick kid being at school. The director shrugged it off and said that they could not send home every kid with a runny nose and cough. Two days later, Brandt had a green, snotty nose. Knowing that Brandt has asthma and chronic sinusitis, we quickly took him to see the pediatrician last Friday. The doctor prescribed Omnicef, along with his breathing treatments. As the weekend went on, however, he worsened. He developed a productive cough, rapid breathing, inability to sleep, and a persistent fever. Brandt was coughing and crying all night. First thing Monday, Darrin had him back at the pediatrician's for another check. A chest X-ray found a large amount of fluid in his lungs, and he was switched to Augmentin. Fevers still continued, so we alternated Advil and Tylenol--but that was only ridding the fever for a couple hours at a time.
Finally, Wednesday night we could see that Brandt was not getting any better. He was continuously crying, and the only time he was comfortable was during his breathing treatments--which he would fall asleep during. We called the doctor, and they said Brandt would need to be seen again and have another chest X-ray. We decided to take him in first thing Thursday morning. Yet, we still had to make it through the night. It was a long night with no sleep. Fevers continued to soar, while fatigue was rapidly plaguing my exhausted body. At 2:00am, Darrin came in to take over. We talked for a bit and decided that something was seriously wrong. The antibiotics clearly weren't working, and Brandt was just getting worse. Darrin decided to take Brandt to the ER.
The ER did another chest X-ray and compared it to the X-ray from Monday (since our pediatrician and the hospital are in the same medical group, the previous X-ray was on file). They found that even more fluid was continuing to fill his lungs. Immediately, they wanted to run an IV for steroids and antibiotics. Only, with Brandt being such a "healthy" boy, they had a difficult time finding his veins. They stuck him in one site, wiggled and jiggled the needle around, but weren't able to make contact with the vein. They repeated this in three other sites before they finally got the IV hooked up to his foot. In the other foot, a respiratory monitor tracked the oxygen levels in Brandt's toe.
After contacting our pediatrician, the hospital decided to admit Brandt to the main hospital for pneumonia. But, because we weren't at the main hospital, we had to wait for an ambulance to transport us. I rode in the ambulance with Brandt while my mom and Darrin drove behind.
Once we finally arrived at the main hospital's pediatric tower, we were taken to a respiratory and observation unit to stay. It was a very intimidating room. We were greeted by a giant jail-like crib with an oxygen tent around it. Two shaded windows allowed the doctors and nurses to observe his vitals and behavior--in the event that respiration should start to decline. But, this was our home for the next few days, so we tried to make the most out of it.
The following 60 hours was all just a blur--partially because of exhaustion and partially because it was just one giant disaster after another.
The first night was exceptionally rough. Monitors were sounding every half hour. Sometimes it was the respiratory monitor slipping off his toe, while other times his respiration would dip. Still, other times, the IV line would become obstructed. Nurses were in and out for vitals, and the respiratory therapist was in every four hours for breathing treatments.
The next morning, the IV, which was so cleverly placed in Brandt's foot, got ripped out while he was sleeping. It took thirty minutes and attempts at five different sites before the nurses got another IV in. And by the time that was done, Brandt was soaked in sweat and passed out in my arms. Only, this time the IV was in the bend of his arm, and two hours later, it popped out again. Back to hunting for veins. Problem was, they had already collapsed three veins and bruised many others. The nurse tried wiggling and jiggling the needle at two sites before she finally decided enough was enough. And during all of these, Brandt was screaming, and fighting, and calling out "muh-muh" while I was having to hold him down. It was awful.
The second night was much easier. We were no longer awakened by monitor alarms, and Brandt's breathing was finally stable. The nurse and respiratory therapist still made their rounds. But, then, since he no longer had an IV for meds, this meant shots instead. And, there is nothing more heart-wrenching than holding your baby down at midnight while he gets two shots of antibiotics. It was too much, although much quicker than the thirty minutes of exploratory vein hunts for the IV. Still, I got some sleep, and my mom stayed with me to help.
But, by the third morning, we had all had enough. Brandt was tired of being restricted to the jail crib, I was mentally broken, and Darrin was bored with his TV selections (haha). We had been living off take-out, and the room seemed to be shrinking more and more by the minute.
And, FINALLY, at 1:00PM Saturday, we got the green light to go home. Of course they sent us home with some new antibiotics and steroids, and we have to continue breathing treatments every four hours. We also have to return to the pediatrician for a check-up on Monday. Still, I was so happy--I could've given that nurse the biggest hug of her life.
Oh, but if you want a good laugh, I got one for you! Every time, we requested more diapers and wipes, I would pack away some of the diapers! So, I ended up coming home with 50 free diapers--not to mention the like 100 free diapers the IV made him soak through in the three days we were there! I figured they were getting pretty rich off me anyway--150 diapers wasn't really setting them back much. :P
So, here is the tally thus far:
Three office visits: $60
Ambulance ride: TBA
Impatient Care: $500
Five antibiotics/steroids: $50
Two Breathing meds: $40
Take-out/Dining: $150
Having a healthy son: PRICELESS!
Wednesday, November 7, 2012
Unmentionable Circumstances
I'm sitting here slouched over on the couch--my body melding in with the leather--trying to replay and make sense out of the very overwhelming day we have had. It all happened so fast and my mind is bogged down with displeasure, so the words just aren't flowing so easily. It is just a very draining feeling.
And, by now, I suppose you all are wondering what I am talking about? Well... Brandt has to have another surgery. Whoa--too much, too fast? I guess I should rewind and start at the beginning...
When Brandt was born, our pediatrician noted that Brandt's left testicle was not fully descended. While it was palpable, it was not where it needed to be. The pediatrician said that it was fairly common and should self-correct within the first few months. It was noted at nine months, and at Brandt's one-year-old well baby visit, the problem was still present. Yet, the pediatrician said he wanted to wait a little while longer. So we did, and the problem never went away. So, at nearly 18 months of age, Brandt was finally referred to a urologist. The pediatrician's office called to schedule the appointment, and they had us at the urologist a week later.
Meeting with the urologist all happened rather quickly. She came in, went over a brief family history, did some unmentionable poking and pulling, and went right into surgery details. It was crazy how quickly it all transpired.
I was fuming with anger because the urologist asked us why we had waited so long, if we were too busy doing other things--as if there were other things more important than my kid's health. And, of course, I was thinking it was all that damn pediatrician's fault, with his wait-and-see game. The game he so commonly likes to play with my kid. I had mentioned the problem to him several times, only to have my concerns quickly dismissed. The urologist said that if the problem was going to self-correct, it would have happened around two months of age, when the body experiences a surge in testosterone. She went on to say that most surgeries are performed before six months of age. And, there we were, at eighteen months of age. My cheeks were firey red, and it took everything in me to bite my tongue, when I really just wanted to call the pediatrician and give him a piece of my mind.
But, we pressed forward with the details of the surgery. She was speaking so fast, and my brain was still busy cursing the pediatrician, so I was only catching pieces of what she was saying. Will be scheduled in six weeks time. Outpatient. St. Mary's Children's Hospital. General anesthesia. Two incisions. Codeine. Three weeks recovery. Risk of serious complications... She was singing an all-too-familiar tune--one that was piercing my ears and breaking my heart.
And, for those of you who are now backtracking and counting six weeks time--yes, that is just in time for Christmas. Joy to the world...
But, as the urologist was spitting out her as-a-matter-of-fact procedure routines, I quickly jumped in with my familiar tune of questions and concerns--now being a seasoned pro of both anesthesia and surgery procedures. The urologist was very knowledgable and calming, and, yet, nothing could calm the internal angst I was feeling. At one point, I remember seeing Darrin look away with tear-filled eyes. It was a rare occurrence, which I have only seen him experience a handful of times in this whole process. And, at another point, I was holding my breath and biting my lip in an effort to hold back the emotions screaming inside of me that were wanting so desperately to escape.
But just as quickly as the appointment started, it was over.
And, so, at this point there is nothing else I can do but wait for them to call me with the surgery date. I sort of have to just roll with it. Another one of those "let go and let God" kind of situations.
Please continue your prayers for our precious little boy.
And, by now, I suppose you all are wondering what I am talking about? Well... Brandt has to have another surgery. Whoa--too much, too fast? I guess I should rewind and start at the beginning...
When Brandt was born, our pediatrician noted that Brandt's left testicle was not fully descended. While it was palpable, it was not where it needed to be. The pediatrician said that it was fairly common and should self-correct within the first few months. It was noted at nine months, and at Brandt's one-year-old well baby visit, the problem was still present. Yet, the pediatrician said he wanted to wait a little while longer. So we did, and the problem never went away. So, at nearly 18 months of age, Brandt was finally referred to a urologist. The pediatrician's office called to schedule the appointment, and they had us at the urologist a week later.
Meeting with the urologist all happened rather quickly. She came in, went over a brief family history, did some unmentionable poking and pulling, and went right into surgery details. It was crazy how quickly it all transpired.
I was fuming with anger because the urologist asked us why we had waited so long, if we were too busy doing other things--as if there were other things more important than my kid's health. And, of course, I was thinking it was all that damn pediatrician's fault, with his wait-and-see game. The game he so commonly likes to play with my kid. I had mentioned the problem to him several times, only to have my concerns quickly dismissed. The urologist said that if the problem was going to self-correct, it would have happened around two months of age, when the body experiences a surge in testosterone. She went on to say that most surgeries are performed before six months of age. And, there we were, at eighteen months of age. My cheeks were firey red, and it took everything in me to bite my tongue, when I really just wanted to call the pediatrician and give him a piece of my mind.
But, we pressed forward with the details of the surgery. She was speaking so fast, and my brain was still busy cursing the pediatrician, so I was only catching pieces of what she was saying. Will be scheduled in six weeks time. Outpatient. St. Mary's Children's Hospital. General anesthesia. Two incisions. Codeine. Three weeks recovery. Risk of serious complications... She was singing an all-too-familiar tune--one that was piercing my ears and breaking my heart.
And, for those of you who are now backtracking and counting six weeks time--yes, that is just in time for Christmas. Joy to the world...
But, as the urologist was spitting out her as-a-matter-of-fact procedure routines, I quickly jumped in with my familiar tune of questions and concerns--now being a seasoned pro of both anesthesia and surgery procedures. The urologist was very knowledgable and calming, and, yet, nothing could calm the internal angst I was feeling. At one point, I remember seeing Darrin look away with tear-filled eyes. It was a rare occurrence, which I have only seen him experience a handful of times in this whole process. And, at another point, I was holding my breath and biting my lip in an effort to hold back the emotions screaming inside of me that were wanting so desperately to escape.
But just as quickly as the appointment started, it was over.
And, so, at this point there is nothing else I can do but wait for them to call me with the surgery date. I sort of have to just roll with it. Another one of those "let go and let God" kind of situations.
Please continue your prayers for our precious little boy.
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