Hospitals Are Not Our Favorite

…yet here we are. I’m sitting here listening to the beep….beep….beep of Clinton’s IV wishing we were anywhere but here, but also thankful that we caught the problem and are, in fact, here.

Yesterday started no different than any other crummy day. Clinton woke up grabbing his belly telling me, “Ow.” This is normally how we start a day that contains one of our many episodes of the stomach virus, so I thought this day would be no different. However, Clinton didn’t throw up. He was lethargic, whiney but throw-up free.

In an effort to provide some comfort, I laid Clinton in my lap and rubbed his belly a bit. This often helps him with gas or even soothes an upset stomach. As I gave a few simple rubs I noticed a tightening in his left side, so I checked the right side. No tightening. That’s odd. Back to the left side with a little firm rub and squeeze. Did I just…? No. Check again. Yes, definitely something there. Something that feels like a golf ball. To make sure I wasn’t crazy, I checked a few more times. It was deep, not bulging, but definitely there.

I first called and left a message on the advice nurse voicemail and waited for a call back. After a few minutes, some kind of maternal adrenaline took over. A gut feeling told me we didn’t have time for a call back, we just needed to see a doctor. I called back and told them we were coming and we needed the first available appointment. They were happy to oblige.

We arrived at the doctor’s office with a completely lethargic and limp little boy. He wasn’t fighting the straps on his stroller. He wasn’t asking to get out. And he wasn’t dropping his feet below the footrest to push the stroller across the room while screaming at me. He wasn’t Clinton at all.

After about 30 seconds of waiting, he threw up….big. We were seen immediately. Looking back, I’m glad he didn’t throw up at home or I may have just assumed we were on our 11th stomach bug. Now we’re wondering how many stomach bugs weren’t even stomach bugs, but flare ups.

The doctor examined Clinton, which is usually a fight. This day it was just a matter of moving his dead-weight limbs around. After all the routine checks, the doctor began to examine the abdomen. I was nervous he wasn’t going to feel the lump and that I was going to be sent home wondering what it was that I knew I had felt.

“Well, do you feel it?” “Yep, there’s definitely something there. I want to go ahead and send you for an ultrasound down the street. It could just be a stool, but we need to check.”

After a little conversation and some direction, I wheeled the kids to the elevator to head out for an ultrasound. Trying to imagine what our first impression would look like if I took Clinton in with nothing but a diaper and socks on, I was mentally figuring out how to get him some vomit-free clothes. As we walked to the car, I saw a beautiful little miracle--the consignment store that sits directly below the doctor’s office. Hallelujah!

With a new pair of shorts and a polo, Clinton was a champ during his ultrasound. He watched as the tech took pictures of his belly and he found the screen to be very interesting. The chest x-ray did not go as well. There was lots of screaming and convulsing as me and a tech held him in place. Not awesome.

I saw some things on the ultrasound that made me nervous. The left side had one massive and three smaller black circles. The right side had nothing of the sort. It was just a perfectly white, much smaller oval.

As I sat and waited I tried to read the face of every doctor and tech that passed, wondering if they had seen Clinton’s ultrasound. No one in the office smiled at me. I kept telling myself they just weren’t friendly, but I kept thinking maybe they knew our fate. “Here are your x-rays and your ultrasound pictures. Now make sure you go straight back to Dr. White’s office. Okay?” Yep, there’s something wrong.

As soon as I walked back in, the receptionist saw me, picked up the phone, “There here.”, and we were immediately ushered back, all with somber faces.

I waited for the doctor as both kids slept in the stroller. I tried to distract myself with an Elmo book, with reassuring thoughts that everything would be okay, and prayer.

Dr. White returned. He looked serious. I felt sick.

“It’s not anything devastating like cancer, but it’s serious.” I sat and listened to words like dissention, severe hydronephrosis, UPJ obstruction…and other medical words that didn’t hit me nearly as hard as what I caught with my eye. The paper he held read “Must be admitted to the hospital immediately”. I was choking on tears, trying to be strong, trying to hold myself together in order to hear all the information and be able to ask appropriate questions.

So, what we’re looking at is probably a UPJ obstruction. Rodney and I both have a sister who was born with this. Heidi will also be tested for this soon. The obstruction has caused the severe hydronephrosis, water on the kidney. This is why he can’t hold anything down, too much pressure in his abdomen.

“I want you to know, it’s not just any mother that would notice that and bring their child in for it. I want to commend you for being so aware and astute. I can’t think of another mother in my practice that has ever caught this on her own. It’s good to catch these things early.” If ever there were a time to feel good about the job you’re doing as a mother, during a medical emergency may be one of the best.

After visiting with my pediatrician and the pediatrician who would be on call at the hospital, we headed out to the car to make phone calls and the lonely, scary drive to the Children’s Hospital.

First call, Rodney. “I have some bad news. I took Clinton to the doctor today. He’s had an ultrasound. It’s his kidney. We’re going straight to the hospital. You need to come home.” With five hours of highway between him and his son, Rodney packed up and left without a second thought.

Second call, Mom & Dad. “We’re on our way to the hospital. It’s the same thing Chelsea had.” “Do we need to catch the next flight?” “Not yet, but I’ll let you know when we know more.” It’s so amazing to have parents who will drop anything and everything to be at your side when you need them.

Third call, Heather. “I have to take Clinton to the hospital. I know you’re family’s here…” “No, no, no. Let me grab a pen. Okay, tell me what you need me to get for you and I’ll have it there.” Friends like these are priceless. If you have one, don’t let them go.

More calls to Rodney’s family. More calls back to Rodney and Mom & Dad. Anything to not sit in the quiet with my own thoughts.

We arrived at the hospital and were ushered back to an Urgent Care room immediately. Things were fine until they needed to put in the IV. Not cool. Three tries, three veins blown. One child completely hysterical and inconsolable. A 20 minute break and try #4. It takes, but not quickly. Lots of screaming and tears, and one ragged mommy holding him down with the help of three nurses. Once it was in, he calmed down, but he was miraculously cured from the IV drama when his daddy’s face appeared in the door around 10:00pm. Then he wanted to show off his trains they brought him and sit in his daddy’s lap.

We’re now in an observation room, it’s about 9:00am. We had a long night of crying and screaming for milk. After three hours of crying, they let him have two sips of water and some pain meds. After a while the pain meds mellowed him out. About the time he was sleepy, he kept raising up his arm and saying, “Ow.” This “ow” was from an infiltrated IV that had to be pulled at 4:30 this morning and new one put in on the other side in his hand. He was so weak he couldn’t fight us like he did last night, but he continued the screaming.

He ‘s just woken up and we’re trying liquids. We weren’t allowed them all night with the possibility of surgery today looming over us. The urologist pretty much ruled out surgery today, but we’ll be doing quite a bit of testing to determine exactly when the surgery will be.

Heidi has been a trooper through it all. Nana came last night and held her while we waited for Daddy. She slept in a hospital pack-n-play beside me last night. And she’s been a happy baby…as she usually is.



We look a bit like a circus. They wheeled in an extra cot since Rodney and I were both staying, so there’s literally three beds and a pack-n-play lined up from wall to wall across our room along with Rodney’s suitcase from traveling and all the bags of necessities Heather and her sister, Annie, brought me from home.



We spoke with the urologists a few moments ago and Clinton will undergo quite a bit of testing today. This will involve a catheter. We’re not excited, but we know it’s necessary.

We are so thankful that the issues we are facing are treatable. They are not life threatening with treatment. They will, however, require surgery. I cannot even begin to imagine what it must be like to have a child facing a terminal illness, or even chronic. Watching your child suffer is gut wrenching. We know our issues will be resolved within a short amount of time, but we are still heart broken for our little boy.

There is nothing that cuts a mother’s heart like the tears of a child. And a father’s insides are turned inside out with painful shrieks of child.

I am very thankful at this time for my own mother. Who, twenty years ago, went through this same thing with her own child. A bond that will bring us even closer together, no doubt. The true understanding of what you’re going through is priceless, and I’m glad it’s my mother offering this understanding.

***********


I wrote the above this morning from my recliner-bed. It’s now about 6:30pm. We’re home and completely exhausted. As expected, the catheter was awful. I was nervous about it hours before, and every time I looked at my very unexpecting son, my heart just broke for him. He had no idea what was coming.

I fought a painful lump in my throat during the entire event, and even shed a few tears. Clinton shed thousands of tears and filled the hospital hallways with screams and shrieks. He then had about 2 hours worth of testing in which the catheter had to stay in. For one test he was injected with nuclear medicine to see how much functionality was in his kidneys. While he has full kidney function, his left kidney is only performing about 30% of it. The second test was checking his bladder by injecting a contrast and watching it function.

The test revealed he does, in fact, have a UPJ obstruction which has caused the severe Hydronephrosis. Clinton will undergo surgery in the next six weeks. We’ll be calling in the morning to get the first available appointment.

I’m still pretty calm about the surgery because I’m far enough away from it to see it as an overall and absolute solution. My feelings and emotions may change as we get closer.

We greatly appreciate any prayers you can lift up for our little boy and his precious little body. And don’t forget me and Rodney, we need lots of strength in order to comfort Clinton through this process.

Looking forward to healthier days,