That which doesn't kill you

This week, I faced the very real possibility of losing my son.

It started with "my tummy hurts."  A common enough claim among small kids, usually addressed with a trip to the bathroom. I didn't think much about it. Besides, the family who watches him before and after school just had a bout with the stomach flu. This is probably just a virus that's trying to claim its next stake. The virus equivalent of a land grab, or hostile takeover of my kiddo's stomach. A few days of rest are on the horizon. 

It wasn't that. No stomach flu made it past our secure borders. And I was relieved that we had dodged the inconvenience of spending a few days home watching cartoons. But a few days later...

Did you get it?
Did you get the mustard?
Because it's spicy.
Did you get it?

"Ow, my tummy hurts." Again? Hmm. Did this start when my super-picky eater finally found a new food he likes? Bologna sandwiches, "and don't forget the spicy mustard, mom! Did you forget the spicy mustard? I can't see the spicy mustard!" Look on the other side, buddy. "Yay! Spicy mustard! I like spicy mustard, mom." I know, sweetie. I wouldn't forget it. I hoped he wasn't reacting poorly to a new food he absolutely loves. I can count the list of foods he can tolerate on my fingers.  (Thankfully, this includes broccoli. Whew!) I'd hate if we lost any options due to a food allergy or worse. Is it the bologna? The mustard? 

It wasn't. And I was relieved that we could keep our comfortable, although sometimes questionable menu of the foods my sensory kid will eat. Until Sunday night, when it returned as quickly as it faded away. And this time, it was different. 

"My tummy hurts!" My typically calm son sounded alarmed. Scared. This was new for us in the realm of tummy status reporting. Over the course of an hour, the pain seemed to come and go in waves, lasting just a few seconds... and then a seconds few more... then ten...  thirty... Ok, tonight is the night we go to urgent care and get answers on this.

It wasn't. After we got in the car and started to head to the urgent care clinic, my son started screaming much louder as the pain waxed and waned. Such sounds I never heard before, I never wanted to hear from my child or anyone's. Without hesitation, I turned toward the nearest ER instead. 

You know when a child is in serious pain. You can tell. BUt when he's asking "why?" while crying out, it's heartbreaking. That's not pain. That's torment. You don't know the true meaning of the word helpless until you bear witness to a loved one's suffering and know there is not thing one you can do to help. Ok, we're here at the hospital. At least now is the night this gets resolved.

It wasn't.  Or rather, it kinda was.  Kinda.  After 30 minutes of screaming in pain in the waiting room, we get checked in. As soon as Q hits the ER bed, he's quiet.  In a few minutes, he's fine. An hour later, he's watching cartoons and enjoying himself.  No pain for 90 minutes.

One of the nurses pops his head into my room. "I haven't heard him scream since he got back here." I smiled, I know, right? He doesn't smile. He locks eyes with me. "Kinda makes you think, doesn't it?" He slowly closes the door, maintaining eye contact with me the whole time.


Wait, what? Makes ya think? About what? That my kid is faking this? That I'M faking this? What the hell.  But there he is, my happy little kiddo, cheerfully telling the tech he's all better. So maybe it was gas. Maybe it's not the emergency I feared it was. He did get better after using the bathroom.  Maybe it was just one really bad ass gas bubble and I overreacted. Ok.  We can go home now. A little embarrassed, but I'd make the same call in the same circumstances. But don't make me feel like an idiot about it. And at least, this whole thing is finally over.

It wasn't.  

Q lost his appetite. Two days later, when the symptoms returned, he stopped eating altogether. His symptoms didn't go away. Back to the emergency room. Questions, Recounting the stories. X-rays. Trying to keep my kid calm. Hey Q, your first Xray! how cool! Check it out! It's a picture of your bones...  Ma'am this part here shows an obstruction. Lorazepam for the pain, but it's not really helping. Yes, pain started Sunday. He was fine Sunday night until Tuesday. No fever. Yes he's gone to the bathroom. No he hasn't eaten. Yes he started throwing up, but with an empty stomach there's nothing much coming out. We need to consult with a pediatric surgeon at your hospital. Waiting. There is no pediatric surgeon at your hospital. We need to transfer you to UNM. Ambulance ride transfer to the pediatric ER unit downtown. Hey Q, have you ever been in an ambulance before? Me either! How cool is that! More questions. More recounting. Sonograms. Consulting telerads. Morphine.  Morphine???  Morphine. Q's Dad shows up. Awesome, dude. Thanks for being here. He needs you. Sonogram inconclusive. Probably not the appendix. CT scan. Surgical consult. An answer. Intussusception. But in the transverse part of the large intestine. "I've never seen this happen before and I've been a surgeon for 25 years." Right. Keeping up our family tradition of needing to be different, I see. Good. Can you fix it? Hopefully, this is something we can fix with just a procedure and without the need for surgery. Hopefully it is.

It wasn't.

I have been accused of being strong. I'm not. I just wait until the room is empty to let myself let go. It's cathatric to express just how not strong I am, but less so with an audience. Q is being prepped for surgery and subsequent admission. Best case.. They stretch out the intestines and undo the kink. Worse case they remove the damaged part and stitch up the good parts. Worst case... Ostomy bag for about 6 weeks while he breaks for follow up procedure. Here are the risks: Lifelong digestive problems. Nerve damage. Paralysis from the epidural. Epidural?  Epidural. 

Q is out of surgery. They removed a golf ball sized polyp from his large intestine. Benign. The surgeon showed me a picture of it on his digital camera. "This is me holding your son's large intestines outside of his body! And here is the lumpy thing that was causing the problem. Who knows how long that's been growing in there!" Wow, doc, I bet your full collection of digital albums is, uh... something. Did not need to remove any part of his intestine. Did not need to put in an ostomy bag. This could have been fatal if left untreated.

This could have been fatal if left untreated.

It wasn't.

You would think that last one would be like a weight lifted off my shoulders. No. Quite the opposite. It's the moment where you finally feel the weight of everything. This could have been fatal if left untreated. If misdiagnosed. If any number of things that could have happened, happened. 

But they didn't. If it weren't for the amazing team of pediatric ER staff, pediatric surgeons, clinical techs et al at UNM Children't Hospital, today might have been a very different day. But it wasn't. And that's an incredible thing. I owe them everything. Quite literally.

Now if you'll excuse me, I am done being strong for a little while.