Sunday, April 28, 2013

Baker's Weekend Getaway

I had been begging for a weekend getaway with Brian and Baker.
Itching to pack up and head south to the coast for a Cosmo's fish sandwich and some sand between my toes.
Or even north to Tennessee, to introduce Baker to the Chattanooga Choo Choo and the aquarium.

I got my weekend getaway, all right.
Almost forty-eight uninterrupted hours with my two boys.

Unfortunately, we were booked in Room 203 at one of Mississippi's finest, 
and dined on hospital food and takeout.

I'm not sure when it started.
Baker had been throwing up for a few days, 
but I attributed it to the antibiotics he was taking for strep throat.
But then, he started moaning, running a fever, and acting uncharacteristically lethargic.
He would be totally fine, then very, very sick.
Like the picnic I posted about a few days earlier - 
we were having fun, making memories, waving at neighbors, 
and then all of a sudden, Baker was throwing up everywhere.
After his bath, he was fine again.
This happened on and off for a few days.
Everyone who saw him said the same, "He's just not acting like Baker."
And, I know it sounds silly, but he smelled sick.

I knew something was wrong, but I didn't know what.

By Friday, it had escalated.
We left school that afternoon bound for his pediatrician's office.
Almost immediately after loading him into his car seat, he threw up.
I pulled over, cleaned him up, and wrapped him in a cotton blanket, 
as he had yucked on all other spares.

By the time we pulled into the parking lot, he was vomiting uncontrollably again and had extreme diarrhea.
He was crying, and so was I.
We were a sight for sure!

The doctor did a stool sample and a CBC, and determined Baker has Rotavirus.
They admitted Baker to the hospital immediately for severe dehydration.

If the doctor hadn't seen the evidence, she might not have believed me.
This smile is quite deceiving.





Upon arrival, they weighed him, took his vitals, and prepped him for an IV.


That was the worst.
The IV attempts.
Because he was so dehydrated, his veins were much less prominent.
The first time we went into the procedure room, three different nurses stuck him five different times.

I watched.
As they held him down, and wriggled the needles this way and that.
As he screamed bloody murder.
I watched.
And I prayed out loud. 
And I kissed his face.
And sang in his ears.
And combed my fingers through his hair.
It was awful.
I finally jerked him up off the bed, out of the restraints, 
and just held his little shaking body until he fell asleep.

The next shift of nurses came in.
The doctor was adamant he get an IV, so they tried again.
Brian was there by then.
The three of us held each other as they tried unsuccessfully three more times.

A few hours passed, and  because his dehydration was worsening, they tried a feeding tube through both his mouth and nose.
Again, we held him down as they forced tubes through his screaming.
As we predicted, this was unsuccessful. 
Baker gagged the entire time and was convulsing.
I was close to wrapping him up and walking out.
I promised to keep him hydrated through the night - waking hourly to feed him.

His blood work Saturday morning evidenced slight improvement.
We continued bottle feedings and diligent prayers for our little.
And by this morning,
he had a wet diaper, and tears, and even a runny nose.
All things that were absent in the presence of dehydration.

Those of you who follow me on Instagram and Facebook, saw pictures of smiles in the midst.
That's what I wanted to take away from the weekend.
Nurses and doctors who were present for Baker's birth visiting their favorite patient, 
Bama scrubs to rival their State ones,
blowing kisses and kisses and kisses,
playing on his daddy's iPad, 
rocking out during breathing treatments.


 




That's my boy.
He's a fighter.
A smiler.
A day brightener.

His symptoms will likely continue for the next several days.
The doctors cautioned against relapse.
We will keep him out of school this week, in hopes that he will continue to heal and gain strength.

This is the tough part about being a working mama.
I need to work, but I need to stay home with my baby.
This is still new territory for me.
And I'm slowly learning my way, the perfect balance of the two.

I'm still on the hunt for a weekend getaway.
One that doesn't involve checking vitals every four hours and changing yellow highlighter colored poo with a smell that just won't quit.

1 comment:

  1. Get well, little guy. Wishing good thoughts for you.

    ReplyDelete