Seize the Day: Part Dos
January 15, 2013
2:47 AM. Shut off, brain. I would prefer we be sleeping.
Yesterday afternoon was so much better for the Beck…his fever broke, he was playing, talking, smiling on occasion…it was such a glorious sight. He still feels pretty miserable from the ear infection/flu combo, but overall he’s getting so much better already. Plus, the fever is gone. Hallllleeeluujah!!
You know, the events from Sunday were terrible, but they weren’t out of the ordinary, unfortunately. Kids get sick and when they do sometimes it gets a little dramatic. Still, I wasn’t quite done being haunted by the first time he had an ambulance spin…now Taylor and I both are a little bit frazzled. It’ll pass. It could’ve been so much worse, and we’re so thankful it wasn’t.
I can’t stop thinking about what happened in that tiny urgent care room. The doctors telling us to talk to him even though it looked like he couldn’t hear/understand/recognize us. Trying to think of things to tell our sweet boy that would calm a 16 month old: “It’s going to be ok” doesn’t really cut it. “Owl is with us, so is Puppy.” was close, but still no cigar. Watching him try to take the oxygen mask off but being too disoriented to cry about it or have enough energy to be successful. Seeing the scared look in his eyes as multiple strangers held him down to put in IVs. His finally starting to cry but not sounding anything like his usual self. All of it. It was all awful.
Taylor and I were talking last night about the worst part of it all. Obviously the actual seizure was the most horrifying thing I’ve ever witnessed, but all of it was very normal and the staff made us feel pretty calm during it all.
The worst to us both was Sunday night through Monday morning once we’d gotten home. I thought for sure Beckett would crash after everything that day, but he wouldn’t sleep. He just screamed and screamed. He wanted to be held, but he’d be mad when you touched him. He wanted Owl, but he didn’t want to hold him. He was cold, but he didn’t want his blanket. He was thirsty, but his throat hurt too much to drink. He didn’t know what he wanted. He was in pain. He was violent. That, mixed with utter exhaustion, led to an angry, screamy child that I’ve never seen before. He was like a really angry, completely inconsolable, surprisingly strong zombie. And this child stayed in our house for about 12 hours. Pretty much only stopping screaming during 30-minute cat naps. If it happened to be a little longer than 30 minutes, we had to wake him up for his round-the-clock medicine, and the whole shebang started again.
As an isolated event, it was exhausting, but that’s how sick, exhausted, non-verbal humans act sometimes. Combined with everything else, it was almost unbearable. He was acting in a way we’d never seen him act before, so, naturally, we’re worried there’s something horribly wrong. The seizure caused brain damage. The events of the day scarred him for life. The IV accidentally put fluid into his cryer box and it shorted out.
The worst part of the whole night was how scared he was underneath it all. If he thought I was leaving him in his crib and walking out of the room, he’d freak out even more (which I didn’t know was humanly possible). Sheer panic and terror in his eyes. He’d scream my name like I’d just been been kidnapped and murdered, never to return again. Obviously I knew the day’s events were probably scary for him, but until I saw the fear in his eyes after we got home, I hadn’t really thought about his need to process in his own little toddlery way, too. That crap sticks with you for a while, even as a wee one. Probably especially as a wee one. Every time he turned around yesterday, he was in a different place with a different person poking him with a different needle. And the flu test? Holy cow. By “nose swab” the doctor meant “suck his brains out until only blood fills the suction tubes”.
Anyway. I’m not even really sure why I’m up at a ridiculous hour. I’m not worried about Beckett’s health. He’ll be fine. He’s licks grocery cart handles and plays in fast food playscapes. He’s going to get sick. I guess I’m still just processing. Who knows. But I would really prefer my brain shut off at some point soon so I can catch up on some zzz’s. I need my immune system in tip top shape. Ain’t no flu gonna gettin me down.
I’m done being dramatic. And hopefully done rehashing the details on a public forum. (I can’t help it. It’s so therapeutic.)
What I’m not done doing, and hopefully will never be, is thanking God for being with us in a mighty way. He was there through all the little details I mentioned in the first post – one more time, let’s just remember that my kid seized at an urgent care that I wasn’t even completely sold on visiting in the first place. You know, details like that. He was there through the men and women from church who have become our family here who, despite our objections, came and sat in the waiting room for hours just to be with us (in spirit – they couldn’t even come where we were). He was there through friends who stayed up texting until we knew the scoop and were discharged at 1:30am. He was there through the countless calls, texts, messages, posts, etc. of encouragement. He was there through the staff who kept this momma and daddy from melting into useless piles of angst and tears. He was there every step of the way.
It’s so easy for Taylor and I both to act tough in situations like that. I didn’t even want to text anyone at the time because I didn’t want to cause a scene. And I really didn’t want people to come and spend their Sunday evening in a petri dish, also known as a children’s ER. Still, I think God was there then, too, gently nudging me. “Tell these people. They are your community. This is what I designed you for.” So I did. And they did come spend their Sunday evening in a petri dish, despite my explicit, “Please don’t come.” texts. If they followed orders and really didn’t come, they still showed up every few hours by checking on us and reminding us they were still praying. It meant the world to us.
So, thank you.
First off, to our heavenly father who loves us enough to break our Korean friend’s cars so they’re forced to spend the night with us on the very night we need someone at our house. And who loves us enough to prompt us to go to a baby shower that led to a conversation that led to a phone call that led to an urgent care waiting room. (I don’t doubt for a second that he had a hand in something as seemingly insignificant as that.) And who loves us enough to put people in our lives who come when we need them most. And who loves us enough to never leave us, even in the scariest of times.
Secondly, to our friends and family. To people who brought/are bringing dinner. To people who texted, commented, called, prayed, thought about us for a fraction of a second.
Thirdly (tertiary?), to my husband. He is the greatest man I know. Not only is he an incredible father, he is an unbelievable husband. He is our support and our provider and our favorite person in the whole wide world.
Fourthly, I’m feeling the tiniest bit sleepy and it’s time to take advantage of that. Hopefully future posts will take a turn for the lighthearted after this.
One other detail about the events that transpired yesterday: gas. I don’t know if it was the dehydration or simply what we ate for lunch, but Beckett had the worst gas of all time at the ER, in that tiny, closed off space. Those poor nurses probably wondered we ever washed our kid’s butt. Or if one of us needed to visit the restroom. It made for some excellent comic relief/serious gagging.
And one story: I was talking to my mom on the phone yesterday telling her how hoarse Beckett was. From the other side of the room we could hear the tiniest, faintest little whisper of a “Neeeeiiiiiggghhhhh.”
And with that, I bid you adieu. (That means farewell, right? If not, pretend it does.)