So - I don't even know where to begin. The last few weeks I have seriously felt like I took a trip to hell and back. I knew having kids would be an emotional roller coaster at times, but no one really told me about those times when you have no idea how to cope. I knew they existed; I guess I was always naive and felt that we could deal with anything thrown our way. In retrospect, of course, we were lucky; what happened was absolutely something we could deal with. But there were moments of sheer despair, of imagining the worst, of wondering what life would be like if things took an unexpected turn...Fortunately, luckily, blessedly, and gratefully, it never went that far. Things rebounded and got better. Much better. In fact, it all seems like a distant memory now, and life is (more or less) back to normal. Although, I have to admit, my perspective on things got a good tweaking.
Actually, as I get older, I find myself facing more and more choices that further define the kind of person I want to be, and it can be very gratifying. More often than not, I'm happy to say that I find myself in the company of people whose values I respect - even if they're different than mine. Case in point: on June 1st my friend Karen threw me, in lieu of a traditional baby shower (which, as you could probably tell from my previous post, seemed silly to me at this stage), a Mother's Blessing. I invited about 10 different women I knew, all of them mothers, and 8 of them participated in this very wonderful and special evening. It was part-ritual and part-conversation, the ritual aspect being a portion of the evening devoted to each woman offering me their individual piece of wisdom, something they had gleaned from their own experiences of mothering, and as a token of their "wish" for me, a stone that eventually became part of a necklace at the end of the evening. It was a touching and beautiful ritual that reminded me of a woman's capacity for strength and nurturing, and I was bowled away by the thoughtfulness of each of my friends. It was both empowering and heartwarming.
The second part of the evening was devoted to conversation, where they allowed me to ask them questions, from "What are your thoughts on circumcision?" to "Did you poop while you were in labor?" I think most people who haven't given birth, men and women alike, would have probably shuddered at the candid nature of our discussion, but it was absolutely marvelous for me. I finally got all my demons out of the open, all my fears about what kind of mother I was and would be with my son, and what I heard back was the affirmation that while these thoughts and feelings were real and certainly understandable, they were ultimately powerless. I sat there, basking in the love of my friends, knowing that despite my insecurities, I was capable of facing the rest of my years as a mother stronger and wiser.
It was almost ironic, therefore, that I would need to call on that strength so soon. That following Sunday morning, one week after the Mother's Blessing, Boba woke up at 5am screaming crying and with a very high fever. She kept complaining that her stomach hurt, and I noticed that her crying intensified while she sat on the potty to pee. I immediately made an appointment to see an after-hours pediatrician, and got an appointment at 10am. In the meantime we managed to get her back to sleep again, hoping the Tylenol would help whatever pain she was experiencing. By around 7 it seemed she was feeling better....and then she started vomiting. And then it felt like she couldn't stop vomiting. I had never seen her like this - the crying was clearly indicative of some kind of pain she was experiencing, and while I was starting to suspect it was connected to her peeing, the fact that she was vomiting made me wonder if it was something else. Needless to say, I was terrified, but thanks to Jason (who is the calmer and more rational of the two of us when it comes to these things) I was able to keep it together (for the most part).
We got her to her doctor, where she was lethargic and weepy, but still throwing up. The doctor took her vitals and determined that it was some kind of virus, but I insisted on a urine test since I had suffered from UTI's before and knew what kind of pain that could be. So Boba took one, and lo and behold, the test came back positive. We were then instructed to take her to a hospital where she could take a blood test to determine the severity of the infection. We did that, and after filling out the given prescription at the pharmacy, we got the call from the doctor (about 2:45pm at this point) that her white blood cell count was "borderline" - anything over 15 was high, and anything over 20 was severe. Boba's was 19. So the doctor asked if we wanted to take her back to the hospital to get the antibiotic as a shot, since we weren't sure if she would keep any medication down. Well, at that point I felt that we needed to give the prescription a chance to work, plus the idea of hauling my poor sickly little girl back to the hospital was just too much. I declined the trip to the hospital (which, TO THIS DAY I wonder if I made the right choice), and opted to stay home with her. And that concluded Sunday.
Monday was a milder version of Sunday, if only because Boba was vomiting less and her temperature seemed to be low-grade. She still complained of pain, however, and her energy level made me very concerned. I remembered from the times I had a UTI, that within two doses of the medication I felt like new. Well, she had had 4 doses at this point and she really hadn't improved much. So I called our regular pediatrician, who suspected that the antibiotic the previous doctor had prescribed was not strong enough, so back to the pharmacy we went to get the new medication. After one dose of the new stuff, she seemed almost herself again, save for being tired and still a little warm. I thought we were on the mend. I was wrong.
That night, at 1am on Tuesday morning, Boba woke up crying and vomiting even more violently than before. We took her temperature and it was 104.8. I called our after-hours nurse service (thank GOD for them), who, after hearing about Boba's symptoms and her last 48 hours, immediately instructed us to take her to the Emergency Room of Rady's Children's Hospital. We did so, and by 4am she was hooked up to an IV and placed in a room for supervision. We camped out as best we could - we were still in our pajamas, after all - and, not knowing what was ahead of us, we all did our best to get comfortable in the hospital bed (Boba & I) and pull-out chair (Jason), and slept fitfully for about 4 hours.
On Tuesday, Jason and I stayed at Boba's side as she was basically examined by a number of nurses, nurse practitioners, and doctors. The main concern seemed to be the fact that the medications were not fighting the infection, as her fevers were spiking up to just under 105. Plus, her stomach pain (which we suspected was actually her bladder she was referring to) had not subsided. She received an ultra-sound that day, which at first examination revealed an "abnormality" (one of the worst words to hear as a parent) on her kidney. It was determined at that point that the infection had spread to her kidneys, and the NP suspected that that was the reason the dosage of the antibiotic we were prescribed had not worked - the infection had advanced too far! Well, hearing about the "abnormality" was the first time I had realized that this thing we were dealing with might be more serious than what I expected. And it basically broke me. Jason held me together, but I allowed myself about 15 minutes to imagine what this could mean...and then I stopped and decided I had to keep going with some faith. Because the alternative was just too hard.
On Tuesday evening Boba took a CT scan to determine what the "abnormality" actually was. While the scan itself was non-invasive and very fast, it was still somewhat traumatic (for me as well as for her) as it involved putting Boba under by a procedure during which the doctor & scan technicians wisely advise the parents not to be present at. Suffice it to say, it was hard to go through.
By Wednesday morning we still had not gotten the results of the CT scan, so Jason insisted that I should go back to work for at least a few hours to a.) get me out of the hospital environment, and b.) to get things straightened out at work so that they could function without me for the next few days, if necessary. So I went back begrudgingly, hating the fact that I had other commitments to take care of. In retrospect, of course, everyone would have been fine had I not gone back at all, but in a way I was able to take care of things so that my absence for the next couple of days did not stress me out in the least. And while most people at work were absolute champs and gave me nothing but compassion and support, there were a couple of others who were not so understanding. Which leads me to believe: there really are some bad seeds in this world. Really truly.
But I really didn't care about those people. Not one bit. So I went back to the hospital Wednesday night, and after spending some much-needed hours with my slightly-improved baby girl, Jason suggested I go home and sleep in our own bed, probably sensing how exhausted I was at that point. (How Jason manages both crisis and his wife in the state of crisis so beautifully is a gift. I married a very, very good man.) We still had not gotten the definitive diagnosis of Boba's CT scan at that point, but I was a little more hopeful since she seemed much better than the two days before. So I went home and slept. (Collapsed into a coma-like state is probably more like it.)
But I am the child of two perpetually stressed people, so I wasn't quite out of the woods yet, well-rested or not. On Thursday morning I woke up to a quiet house, which was a little disconcerting, but allowed me to to return to the hospital with no delay. Except for one not-so-minor detail. In all the hoop-la that had taken place in the last few days, I realized that I had not felt my baby move in my belly. In a while. In fact, I had forgotten the last time I felt him kick. And kids, this one is a kicker. So before I descended into flat-out panic (which was beckoning just ahead), I called my OB's office to explain the situation as I was driving to the hospital. His nurse comes on the phone, and in a somewhat hesitantly cautious manner, told me, "Drive yourself to Sharp Mary Birch right now and check yourself in." Well, crap. As if I didn't already have more to worry about. Luckily, the children's hospital and my maternity hospital are about 2 miles away from each other, so I drove there instead, parking the car and thinking, Oh shit oh shit oh shit. Don't cry don't cry don't cry. I managed to get myself to triage in one piece, and all this time he STILL hadn't kicked. A nurse strapped me down on an examining table, and after waiting a few crucial minutes, another woman (who looked like she was 16 years old, NO JOKE) took the heart monitor and started looking for my baby's heartbeat.
Ladies and gentlemen, she COULDN'T FIND IT.
In the space of about 3 minutes, she slid the monitor all around my belly, and asked me to turn a couple of times before I finally burst into gut-wrenching sobs. Oh my god, I thought to myself, my daughter is in the hospital and I'm about to miscarry. The nurse finally stopped, clearly agitated by my response to the lack of the heartbeat, and said quickly, "I'm going to call in another nurse." Immediately a much older and more-experienced seeming nurse appeared at my side, while I'm doubled over crying like a maniac, and she puts her hand on my shoulder in this gentle but almost authoritative gesture and says, "Honey. It's okay. We'll take care of you." And she takes the monitor and swiftly places it under my belly, right above the pubic bone.
And there it was. Fox's heartbeat. As strong as the day is long. The relief in the air was almost palpable.
They kept me there for about an hour, probably to get me calmed down, but also to check out everything else. In the meantime Jason was at the other hospital with Boba trying to decipher the frantic phone conversation I had left him with: "I haven't felt him kick. The doctor told me to go to the hospital. I'm going to get checked out." He was able to track me down through an operator and I spoke to him on the phone, assuring him that Fox's heartbeat was indeed there and NOW he was kicking like the mad little fetus he was. I think Jason never had a chance to panic, plus he was still dealing with Boba, so he was much more reserved when I told him the news that everything was okay. I think mostly he was concerned about me, his crazy, unraveling wife who barely had any memory of the last time she ate a meal, much less that she was in a condition herself that needed attention. Oy vey.
Anyway, aside from that whole debacle, Thursday was a very good day. Our pediatrician had looked at the results of the CT scan and had determined that the "abnormality" was "mild" and would not need additional attention after all. Plus at this point, Boba was very much more herself with each passing minute, and had even switched to eating solids at this point. The "stomach" pain was gone, and her fevers were fewer and lower. Best of all, we were allowed to go home that day. Hallelujah. I am grateful that we have such a good Children's Hospital in San Diego, but I was more grateful walking out those doors than through them. I'm sure that's understandable.
So it's been about 10 days since we left the hospital, and after spending a couple of days at home, Boba returned to her friends at daycare on Monday, and both Jason and I returned to work full-time as well. Life back to normal, it seems. Well, except for the fairly strict drug regimen that Boba is on, but I'm not even fazed by that anymore. Neither is she, really; she almost asks for the medicine at this point - that's how embedded in our daily routine the stuff is by now. She is energetic, expressive, playful, stubborn, strong-willed - everything that made her who she was before the illness. She is back to sleeping through the night and waking up at about 5:30am to join us in bed to sleep the rest of the morning. She loves her girly-girl dresses, her white rice, her Elmo and her "Toy Story" DVD. She is everything I wish for her to be.
It's such a lesson, though. It doesn't take me much to look back on the last few weeks and realize how fortunate we are to be where we are now, how difficult it was while we were in the thick of it, and how empathetic I am to parents and children who suffer through this kind of thing on a much more serious scale. Having children is transformative, but having to endure them suffering? Nothing shapes your view on life faster. Nothing reminds you more about what really matters. Nothing is really more important.
I want to close by thanking all of our friends and family who kept up with us during that difficult week. Your thoughts, prayers, and general good-vibes are so appreciated. Jason, Boba, and I (and Fox!) are so lucky to have all of you, and I feel fortunate that we are surrounded by such amazingly supportive people.
And I also want to say that Jason is a godsend. Both as a father and a husband, he proves over and over again what a jewel of a human being he is.
I'll write more about Boba soon, I promise! Although this one was a long one, right? Well, it's one worth remembering.
