This week, I've been earning my keep.
The good news is that Bo's appendectomy was as textbook as they come, and he came home Monday night, the day after. The Surgeon was sheepish when he relayed it's prophylactic removal. I was relieved to have it gone, even though we now know that he had Mesenteric Adenitis (inflamed abdominal lymph nodes from a presumed virus)- this apparently often looks and feels like an appendix about to burst.
There is no bad news. The doctor was preparing himself for an upbraiding when I found out that the surgical intervention was not necessary. But I was relieved and happy. I'm not going to miss an appendix that has no essential (it probably has a function, but we obv live pretty ok without it, and also risk having it explode for no known reason) function, and whose random rupture in a kid with a central line would literally threaten his life. So, no downsides today.
Bo remains a bit sore, but as luck would have it, it's the same surgical site I had with my hernia repair a few short months ago, so I can totally empathize with his recovery. He's taking it easy, rest assured, gentle reader.
Wednesday, August 30, 2017
Saturday, August 26, 2017
Silence is Golden
The last year has been one of extremes. We've had the joy and exuberance of Bo's Make-A-Wish trip in February (an amazing Star Wars/Disney cruise in February), and the fear and anxiety of medical misfortune (both literal and existential): line break & repair, off-the-chart pain/possible appendicitis, and possible loss of Medicaid (the threat of ACA repeal), and all the wonderful, annoying, whining, mundane days in between.
My personal goal for the year is to not let this garbage-fire of an administration drive me back into the arms of high blood pressure medication. This seemed like a low bar last summer, but the intervening 12 months have suggested that I might not actually be able to keep this status. We'll find out in a few weeks, when I see my family doctor.
As I sit in the family room on the pediatric floor of our local hospital, waiting for Bo to feel well enough to convince his surgeon that he is no longer in the danger zone, I remain grateful. This kid starts 5th grade in the fall. This kid has 6 specialists following him. One of the specialists admitted that he broke out into a cold sweat when the ED called saying they were out of ideas.
This is the first unexpected over-night admission in 5 years. It's been a pretty good run. I'm ok with it. We do everything we can to stay out of the joint. But when a kid tells you he's scared for his life because the pain is so unfathomable, first you admit defeat, then you thank God that the ED is only 1.7 miles from the house. When that same kid has only one complaint 5 hours later, that his iPad is out of battery life, it's time to start plotting an escape.
The doctors and residents wonder out-loud if I'm a medical professional. The nurses admit relief that I'm going to make their shift easier by being the DIY-mom. The sibling and spouse fall exhausted into their own beds, waiting to be reunited.
My personal goal for the year is to not let this garbage-fire of an administration drive me back into the arms of high blood pressure medication. This seemed like a low bar last summer, but the intervening 12 months have suggested that I might not actually be able to keep this status. We'll find out in a few weeks, when I see my family doctor.
As I sit in the family room on the pediatric floor of our local hospital, waiting for Bo to feel well enough to convince his surgeon that he is no longer in the danger zone, I remain grateful. This kid starts 5th grade in the fall. This kid has 6 specialists following him. One of the specialists admitted that he broke out into a cold sweat when the ED called saying they were out of ideas.
This is the first unexpected over-night admission in 5 years. It's been a pretty good run. I'm ok with it. We do everything we can to stay out of the joint. But when a kid tells you he's scared for his life because the pain is so unfathomable, first you admit defeat, then you thank God that the ED is only 1.7 miles from the house. When that same kid has only one complaint 5 hours later, that his iPad is out of battery life, it's time to start plotting an escape.
The doctors and residents wonder out-loud if I'm a medical professional. The nurses admit relief that I'm going to make their shift easier by being the DIY-mom. The sibling and spouse fall exhausted into their own beds, waiting to be reunited.
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