Update on Spawnling's Gremlin Heart

Yesterday, we got the news we'd been waiting to hear for over two months:

Our son's heart is healthy and strong.

We officially took him off the aspirin that was thinning his blood in order to prevent aneurysms. We no longer have to worry about running him into the hospital at the first sign of a fever, because any fever now would be from another illness and not a Kawasaki Disease relapse.

He is 100% better with no foreseen complications in the future. He sees the cardiology appointment for a follow-up in a year, and needs a cardio risk assessment test every five years for the rest of his life. But truly, we couldn't ask for better than this.

On second thought, if they handed me a giant bag of money and then told me he was okay...

Spawnling and I celebrated his great news with a heart-healthy trip to McDonald's. Nothing says "love your arteries" like some fries and McNuggets. In my defense, I needed to bribe him with something really over-the-top in order to get him to lie still and not talk for 45 minutes. I'm pleased that, in our family, fast food take-out is considered "over-the-top". At least we do one thing right around here.

(And if you'd kindly ignore the fact that we have an entire cupboard shelf dedicated to snack food of the most heinous sort, I'd greatly appreciate it. Keep quiet and there may be some peanut butter cups in it for you.)

To everyone who's supported us through this crazy ordeal, who's put up with me being far less funny than I used to be, who's prayed for Spawn, thought good thoughts for Spawn, ignored Spawn calling them 'stupid', or wrote it off, like we often did, as 'it's just the Kawasaki talking':

Thank you. Like, for serious. You likely have no idea how your kindness has impacted our lives. Never have we felt so much warmth from both our local community and the online community. You're all so very awesome.

I mean, not as awesome as I am, but pretty close, you know?

Like so many of you have said, life has changed in a way that can't be undone. Once you see your child that sick, it never really goes away. But the troll (thanks XUP) has been caged for now. He's still in my brain, but he's currently sedated with some chocolate. I have a feeling that, as long as I keep feeding him lots of chocolate, he will be quiet. Lots and lots and lots of chocolate. For medicinal purposes.

Oh, sure, I might need a new heart in a few years, but they're growing them on mice now, aren't they?

Wait. Those are ears. This may spell trouble for The Maven.

Tomorrow's the Big Day

Breathing.

Trying not to panic.

Distracting myself.

My, that chocolate looks good...

Tomorrow is the big day: Spawnling's echocardiogram. This will be the tell-all test that lets us know how his little heart fared when faced with the inflammation caused by Kawasaki Disease. It should - should - tell us good news. It should - really should - tell us that there is no heart damage and that we can resume our pre-August 2009 life with a healthy preschooler.

I can't put across in words how much I want this behind us as a family. If all goes well, what happened to Spawnling in August can become a yucky memory with occasional flashbacks that feel like someone just kicked me in the stomach - hard. I'm happy to report they come far less frequently these days and only very rarely make me cry. I do think, however, that I will cry when I hear that everything is ok with his heart. I'm due for a good ol' fashioned relief sob. I've been waiting over two months for one of those and, gosh darn it, I'm going to rock that cry like nobody's business!

Spawnling is completely oblivious to how serious an impact this has had on his family. The only thing he remembers about the hospital is watching a lot of Thomas the Tank Engine and Friends (if I see that show again any time soon, I'm going to jump through the nearest window) and some ghosts. I think the 'ghosts' might have been what his mind imagined the hospital staff were as they examined him in the first few days. Everyone gowned up in light yellow and wore a mask when they came into the room. Throw a feverish toddler's imagination into the mix and you have the makings of a really bad trip. It makes me glad I was never addicted to hallucinogenic drugs.

I, on the other hand, have the displeasure of remember all of it. Everything from 'I think he might have meningitis' to 'We're waiting on tests for encephalitis. Let's hope it's not that'. I remember all the procedures, the bags dangling from the i.v. pole, the concerned faces of everyone we dealt with, my listless little toddler in a very big bed. I remember the chapped lips, white sores on his gums, pink eyes, peeling hands and feet. I remember thinking he was going to die. Really die. I've never been so scared in my life and I don't ever want to be again.

Some of you might be rolling your eyes by now and thinking, "Can't you let this go now? It's been two months, Maven. He's home and he's happy and it could have been a lot worse. Let it go, drama queen."

Sure, you're likely a bit of a bastard if you're thinking that, and I probably don't want to be having coffee with you any time soon. But you're also kind of right. I do need to let this go. Moreover, I want to let this go. I want it to be over and I want to move on with my otherwise awesome life full of awesomeness. In fact, I was doing fairly well until this dreaded appointment crept up, ever so quietly, and spooked me when I looked at our upcoming week on the calendar.

I don't think about those scary few days all the time and it does get easier every day; particularly on the days when Spawnling is trying his hardest to be the very best Spawnling he can be. Today, for example, he was a cat in the early morning, a dog when we visited the book store, and dressed up in his lion costume for a good roar before dinner. When he's in character you have to address him by the correct animal sound. Otherwise he'll ignore you.

Today, while visiting Grandma Madre, he asked her if she would like to have a game of peckers. He then took out the pecker board and asked her what colour of peckers she'd like to be.

Picking your own pecker colour? How delightful! I have pecker envy all over again.

Life would not be the same without Spawnling, or any of The Gremlins Three. So, regardless of what you may think of me and my drama queen postings, please keep Spawnling in your thoughts tomorrow morning at 10:30 EST. Let's wish him some aneurysm-free arteries, shall we?

And, while we're thinking good thoughts, I would like him to lie still without sedation because that would be the best thing - although watching him trip out on the stuff is rather amusing. Also, I'd like there to be no line-up for coffee at the hospital cafe.

...I'm asking too much now, aren't I?

Door #1 or Door #2?

"Boys, can you look at me for a second, please? Thank you. Now, before anyone says anything, I'm not pointing any fingers and therefore do not want to hear 'I didn't do it!' or 'It wasn't me!'. It doesn't matter who did it because I'm directing this at everyone. Listen closely: Mommy does not like sitting in pee, nor does she like wiping up other people's pee from the toilet seat to avoid sitting on it. Therefore, please lift the seat before you go to the bathroom. Also, flushing would be nice. Thank you."

This little lecture was brought to you by a mother who, after giving it, instantly felt as though things were returning to normal - whatever that is. Defining normalcy in the Maven household is a tricky endeavor. I suppose, if I were to take a shot at it, I would say having hiccups of insanity - nothing too crazy - in between trying to pretend we have a schedule and children who listen is our normal. And I never realized how much I would miss it until I was sleeping in a fold-out hospital chair listening to monitors beep.

Things are really starting to feel like they used to around here, minus all the appointments. Spawnling had a follow-up with our family doctor today, meets in a couple of weeks with the ophthalmologist again, and needs his blood drawn sometime in the next few days. However, all of that is blended into a nice, thick chaos smoothie with all the back-to-blissschool stuff we need to do. Even putting class registrations and supply shopping aside, having two hearing impaired gremlins means meeting with the teachers and principals of two different schools (Intrepid is in junior high this year - YIKES!) to make sure everyone understands what they need to make each school year a success.

Today we had a little situation: Gutsy's meeting was at the same time as Spawnling's doctor appointment. Swell. Thankfully, my husband rocks and not only offered to take one of the boys to an appointment, but asked me which one I would like him to do.

... Seriously? Really? I have a choice? Oh, goody! Let me think for a minute.

On one hand, I could take an eager Gutsy to school to meet with his teacher, see his classroom and have a friendly chat about classroom seating and lip reading.

On the other hand, I could drive 40 minutes into the country to sit in a waiting room with a bunch of sick and/or grumpy people with a toddler who can't get sick right now. I can follow him around as he touches things, dosing him with Purell and trying to figure out how I can Barbapapa myself into a bubble around his fragile little body. Then, I could hold him while he kicks, jabs and claws at our very friendly doctor, trying desperately to have an important conversation over his screaming.

Tough call.

Surprisingly, I almost took Door #2. That was my mothering guilt calling. It kept saying 'If you're a good mother you'll go to his doctor's appointment and deal with it, because you know more about his condition than anyone else, and who said this parenting thing was supposed to be easy, and why wouldn't you do that one small thing for your child who's been so sick, and what kind of awful parent would even consider not going in the first place?'

And then I told that guilt where it could be shoved, and took Gutsy to meet his teacher. Why? Because I'm lazy. But that's not a very PC thing to say, so instead I'll say that it's important I not shoulder all the burden of Spawnling's recovery and that I also have other gremlins who need my undying motherly devotion, and stuff.

Gutsy is going into immersion classes this year. And by immersion I mean French and English, just in case you don't know Canada's two official languages. He was in the all-English stream until we discovered his talents went beyond being able to scream louder than a virgin in a horror movie; the boy can easily read Grade 5 and 6 books independently. This is not surprising, being the child of such an intelligent parent.

No. I did not mean Geekster. Why does everyone assume I mean Geekster? Like, you know?

Anyway, this is Grade 1 he's heading into, so my guess is that if we don't give him the challenge of a new language he's likely to do some really bad things with that boredom. Just sayin'.

Tonight I'm heading out for a well-deserved coffee with ThatScriptChick. Tomorrow, I jump back on the running bandwagon, as I've only been once since returning from the hospital. The chocolate to cardio ratio is heavily unbalanced, and my waistline is looking a little more Michelin every day. This eating my feelings thing has been good fun, but I'd rather not have to replace my heart in fifteen years with a new one. This one is rather nice, and it likes people. And people like it. It's a popular heart.

(That being said, I still might treat my heart to some cake tonight. It likes cake.)

A Picture Says a Thousand Words, or Whatever

Yesterday was not a good day.

Why was it not a good day? Not because Spawnling isn't doing well, because he is.

Not because the gremlins had their claws out around the nice(r) furniture, because they didn't.

Not because I didn't have help with the three horned ones all afternoon from The Madre, because I did (Thanks again, Madre!)

No. The reason it wasn't a good day is because I am a giant tool and didn't follow my own advice.

When it comes to health, I believe there is a fine line between being informed and having too much information. For example, when doctors were scrambling to figure out what was wrong with Spawnling and the words 'Kawasaki Disease' were thrown into the mix, I quickly grabbed a cup of coffee from the hospital cafeteria and diligently researched the disease - along with a few others they had brought up as possibilities - on my laptop. I became an informed parent, which is important if you're going to not only make the best decisions for your sick child, but also knock the medical staff's lab coats off with your (newly acquired) vast knowledge of auto-immune disorders. By the time doctors had about reached a diagnosis, I was well aware of what we needed to do to make him better and jumped on the treatment bandwagon with bells on.

And I felt pretty damn proud of myself, I might add, because not only had I taken the time to research everything and make the right decisions, but I also took the time to apply lipstick that day. Mothers who wear lipstick in the hospital appear really put together even when we're nervous wrecks just trying to fake it. Also, I had the cutest little barrettes that did a great job at accentuating the red in my hair...

Sorry, where was I?

Right. Research. Knowledge. Power!

So, Spawnling is on a low dose of aspirin for the next few weeks to help prevent heart complications. Theoretically, when he gets the 'all clear' at his next echo in about five weeks, he'll stop taking it. A few times before he was discharged, and once when I filled the prescription, I was told he needed to stop taking aspirin if he got a viral infection, like the flu or chicken pox. Otherwise, he could potentially develop something called 'Reye's Syndrome'.

That was brought up three or four times, I realized yesterday as I was thinking about things. Hmm. Interesting.

I could have stopped there. I could have been an ignorant-but-still-lipstick-wearing mother who remembered the important thing in all of this: If your child get sick stop giving him aspirin. That's the long and short of it, isn't it? I needn't know more. I needn't ask questions. I knew, in the recesses of my exhausted little mind, that knowing might be bad.

But, in typical Maven fashion, I just had to create a bit of drama just as things are starting to calm down. So I Googled 'Reye's Syndrome'.

Ever Google 'Reye's Syndrome'? Don't do it, man. It's not worth it. You do not want to know what can happen if your child gets it. And it doesn't matter if the chances of contracting the syndrome are minuscule. It doesn't matter if only about two people a year get it in the US because developing it is that exceptional.

None of that matters because, after you read it, you will be frightened. And, if your child has to take aspirin for medical reasons - the one thing they know increases your chances of getting Reye's Syndrome - you will be positively terrified.

And poof! just like that, you're a hyperventilating paranoid freak dashing out of the house to buy hand sanitizer so you can make

every

single

person

who comes into your home use it upon entry so your baby doesn't die after a rare health issue from an even rarer one. Because wouldn't that seriously suck?

(Did Meanie mention Post Traumatic Stress to me the other day? I believe that woman should be a psychiatrist. And, if she wants to incorporate her current career into the new one, she could be a mean psychiatrist.)

Anyway, while I was at the store I, um, picked up a few extra things. It wasn't until I got home and started taking it out of the bag that I realized how easily my day could be summed up in a single shopping trip:


And yes. I did enjoy eating my feelings, and the carrots were, indeed, purchased out of guilt. (I'm nothing if not honest.)

If I'm not careful I'm going to have to start taking aspirin for my heart, too.

... And then we'll both get Reye's Syndrome! Shit.

Pushing Away the "Ick"

Crapolla. Is it Thursday already? Looks like I decided taking care of my son's medical issues took priority over blogging. I'd better be careful or I'll be kicked out of the Super Nerds Club.

The long and short of the last few days is that Spawnling is doing much better and we are home. He was discharged late Tuesday afternoon and is now resting here while he sheds his sickly exoskeleton and gets back to his more rambunctious, slightly less ornery self. He's making fart and bum jokes, which is always a good sign.

There are two not-so-good things going on right now that have us concerned. One is his heart, which the echo showed has a 'very mild' enlargement of the LAD artery. It's probably not a big deal and he may have had it all along, but since Kawasaki can cause heart damage this news is not sitting well with us. He has a repeat echo in six weeks (and we'll get him sedated right away this time - not like the epic fail two days ago where he lay there sobbing until they gave him drugs and waited 20 minutes).

A few people have said 'Well, at least the risk of heart issues is less now that he's received treatment'. Those few people would be correct: without IVIG treatment, Kawasaki patients have a 20-25% of developing heart issues. With it, the chance is reduced to 5-7%. That's pretty good.

Unless you play paranoid mother, a role I'm quite proficient at.

See, after your child is diagnosed with a rare disease everything changes. Statistics can be comforting one day and completely unimportant the next. On the surface, 7 out of 100 ain't bad. But considering Spawn was one of the fewer than 20 out of 100,000 to get Kawasaki Disease in the first place, that number seems rather high. Add in the fact that he has an enlargement of one of the arteries already and that makes for a very, very worried Maven.

But there's nothing we can do right now other than give him his daily aspirin dose and hope for the best. The next few weeks are when any heart issues will arise. They tend to form in the later stage of the disease.

The other issue that cropped up is vision-related: Spawn can't look right with his right eye. It stares straight ahead when he tries. It could be a couple of things, and one could resolve spontaneously as his health improves. But there is a good chance he will need some long term care to make his eye work properly again. Why is this happening? We don't know. He did have some weak eye muscles at birth which quickly strengthened and required no follow-up, and they could have relapsed when he got sick. He also had very swollen eyes for a few days and it might have damaged the nerves or muscles temporarily or permanently. We see the opthalmologist again in three weeks.

Maybe this time he won't scare one away with his Kawasaki screaming and draw blood on the other one's arms with his sharp little claws. 'Ooh! Look at those scratches. Impressive!' she declared yesterday after he let her know how unhappy he was.

'Please don't sue us' I half-joked.

She grinned. 'Usually it works the other way around'. She officially made my Awesome People List with that joke.

***

I know I don't tend to get serious very often and try to keep this blog light-hearted, but sometimes I just can't. I'm sad right now, and that makes funny hard.

I am so grateful that my baby boys is doing better. There isn't an hour that goes by when I haven't thought of him when we first brought him into the hospital; when I honestly thought I was going home without him. I hug him all the time and thank the powers that be that he's alive and mostly well. I try to take his moodiness in stride; it's something that will pass, after all, and every day we see a little more Spawnling and a little less Kawasaki.

But in some ways he's not the boy I knew less than two weeks ago. He's weak and shaky. He's nowhere near being back to his old, energetic self. Add to it that he can't see well and you have the makings for a frustrated, unsure child who wants to run around and play but is afraid of falling over. And when he does fall, he cries for a long time. Seeing him struggling with his own limitations kills me inside.

I try not to worry about his heart, but I do. I wonder what's going on in his chest despite our best efforts. Will he drop dead of a heart attack at four? At six? At twelve? Will I ever feel comfortable not watching him like a hawk? Will I worry every time he's out of breath? Every time we go to the park? Will I be that parent who begs for follow-up cardiology appointments even when they give us the all clear? Will they say 'Uh oh. Here comes that crazy Maven again. Alert security. Tell them if they launch a latte out the main doors she is very likely to follow it.'

In 12 step recovery programs we're taught to take things 'one day at a time'. With eighteen years of sobriety behind me you'd think I'd have that well entrenched in my psyche. I'm trying, because all this worrying isn't doing us any good.

But this experience has fundamentally changed me in ways I haven't completely figured out. I now know how quickly life can change and how little control I have over the whole thing. Apparently I'm not queen of the universe after all. I am keenly aware of how precious life really is, and not in some cliche, saw-it-in-a-movie kind of way. I also have more empathy for anyone who's had a very sick child, and a deeper respect for the strength it takes to have one who is chronically ill - a club I hope we never have to join, but if we do we'll be in good company.

Also, I hear they have cookies.

I'm sad a lot lately, and not much fun to talk to. When we were at the hospital it was all go, go, go, and the constant adrenaline rush helped me get all the things done that needed doing. I cared for Spawn, met with doctors, interacted with nurses, researched everything going (to the point where a few people thought I had a medical background - I told them I just have a giant brain), updated people and took care of myself. But now that we're home and I've had time to fully appreciate what has happened, my emotions are running amuck. This is why I've been so quiet. I just don't have a lot to give right now. I hope that gets better.

I know it will get better.

The wound is fresh, but some time will heal it. I'm well aware that things could have been a lot worse. I'm also aware of how awesome I am, and how I will bounce back as Spawnling does. Geekster, Intrepid and Gutsy will, too. We're all feeling a little low, but we'll be okay. We'll schedule in some quiet coffee visits with friends and family, get ready for back-to-bliss school, go to Spawn's appointments and take it from there, a day at a time.

It will be okay. Also, the next post I have lined up is significantly more lighthearted than this one. I just needed to purge the yucky stuff first.

In Which The Maven Takes a Moment to Say Thank You

It's a sunny morning in Ottawa, and I'm tuning out Diego with an iPod playlist. I would have normally shuddered when Spawn picked that annoying little animal konservation kid from a stack of perfectly acceptable videos, but I suppose he being alert enough to pick and watch a video is the important thing.

I guess.

There are only two things more annoying that Diego: Barney the nasal dinosaur (complete with creepy, overly-animated kids) and that huge-headed Dora. Figures she's Diego's cousin. Please stop yelling questions at the screen. I don't know any child who actually answers you out loud anyway. Also, if you can't figure out where you are, where you're supposed to go, or how to to identify primary colours, you are far too stupid a child to be out in the jungle by yourself. Where are your parents?

...But being in a hospital room for several days isn't getting to me or anything.

Spawnling now has the pleasure of being our most costly offspring. Geekster and I want to sincerely thank the taxpayers of Canada for helping to make our child better. This is where public health care really shines, and why we need to protect it; Spawn's isolation stay costs a few thousand dollars a day. He's also had 72 hours of anti-viral drugs and many tests that are quite costly. Furthermore, his IVIG treatment was at least $3000. Yes, for one dose.

I only know all of this stuff because I asked and I researched out of sheer curiosity. Nobody has bothered me about cost-related stuff because we don't have to directly pay for it. Thank goodness.

I've always been a big proponent of public health care, but now that Spawn has been this sick I'm positively militant about protecting it. The last thing anyone should have to think about when their child is very ill is how much it's going to cost, what their private insurance company will cover, whether or not they'll renew coverage after this is all over... Nursing your baby back to health should be the entire focus. That's stressful enough as it is.

(I would highly suggest you don't try to debate this with me right now. It's not a good time. Just nod and smile and back away politely. Say things like 'Wow, Maven! You're so passionate about this! That's great!' That would be the safer approach. Just sayin'.)

I think I'm done ranting now. It's been kind of stressful around here, in case that's not apparent. And the recovery process for my dear Spawnling (who's real name is Jackson, in case you didn't know and feel strange praying or thinking good thoughts for a kid with such a 'colourful' nickname) has taken its toll on the whole family. The situation has a lot of 'hurry up and wait' elements to it, and that can really wear a person down - even one as amazing as myself.

So here's the scoop on Spawn: He's picking up, but it's very slow. He's awake more often, eating a bit, drinking some, watching movies and cuddling in bed to read books.

But he's irritable. Sooooo irritable. It comes with the Kawasaki disease. He wakes up every time his IV monitor goes off, which is quite frequently because the little bugger moves around a lot (another good sign). He's somewhat combattive which is also positive. And last night, at 3AM, he called me 'stupid'. I was so happy to be belittled I nearly cried!

On Monday the tinniest gremlin has an ECG so we can have our first look at his heart. I'm not terribly worried, but only because I need energy to focus on the right now and not on the 'what ifs'. The heart might not be affected now but could be compromised later. Or maybe not. Why worry about it? We have a long road of aspirin taking and cardiac follow-ups regardless. It could be worse. I mean, he could have potential heart problems and the hospital could face a serious coffee shortage. Now that would be a problematic.

I'll have you know that I was an awesome mother this morning: In an attempt to bribe the boy into taking the four aspirin pills he needs every six hours, I gave him a bag of Doritos to munch on. Don't worry; the aspirin will more than offset any potential Dorito damage. That's my hands-on health-conscious parenting at work.

Everything is by-the-minute right now. As my wonderful new friend Lil said, you take this stuff a moment at a time. That's all we can do.

You people have been amazing. I can't thank you enough. All the comments on the blog have kept me going when I'm feeling scared or overwhelmed. My friends on Facebook have been incredibly supportive, asking how he's doing and how they can help. My cousin apparently got a lot of people at this weekend's pow-wow to pray for Spawn to get well. How cool is that?

Folks have been calling, coming by, bringing coffee, offering hugs. Geekster has been holding the fort down and keeping the older gremlins amused and distracted. Friends and family have been pitching in wherever they can, taking the boys for an outing or cooking meals. And my mom has been a rock for me to lean on more times than I can count. I call her about everything and, sick as she is, she's here, she's babysitting, she's preparing food, she's researching. If I ever needed her it's now, and she knows that. Thanks, Madre. I love you!

Oh hell, I love all of you. Come here and get a hug. I always knew I was fantastically popular, but I didn't know exactly how good my friendships and family relationships were until now. I pick good peeps. Pat yourselves on the back - you deserve it.

Shit. Now I'm crying. Gratitude crying this time. That's good, right? Better than terrified crying or exhausted crying. We're headed in the right direction.

Must go wipe my tears and check the dryer upstairs. It will be nice to have clean clothes that do not smell like ass.

Thank you. I'll update when we know more.

Spawnling vs. Lots of Bad Stuff

To enter the room: put on gown and scrub hands.

To leave the room: dispose of gown at the door and wash hands.

Vitals were being checked every three hours. They are now being checked every hour.

When Spawnling turns, I instinctively get up and make sure he's not wrapped up in his lines: OSAT monitor, heart rate monitor, respiration monitor, IV line, blood pressure cuff.

When he pees I put the wet diaper in a bag and we weigh it on the scale. Input vs. output.

Who knew living in a hospital could bring out my inner OCD? Everything has exact steps to follow or a precise technique. Today I accidentally screwed up Spawn's IV on the way back from Ophthalmology and they had to put in a new one.

Mom of the year award. Right here, baby.

It's a whole different world in here, especially in isolation. It's quiet and I watch the clock. I watch Spawn. I listen to his IV machine make noise and his monitors sounding the occasional alarm. I know what every single beep means and I even know how to fix most of them, although they'd probably kick my ass if I tried.

I wake up at around 6 every morning and look for signs of improvement in the demonite. So far there hasn't been a lot: just a disappearance of one symptom as another pops up.

The diagnosis du jour is Kawasaki Disease, which is the weirdest damn thing I've ever seen. John Travolta claimed his late son had it at one point, and I once saw an episode of House M.D. where they were considering it as a possibility. It's incredibly rare; various sites claim between 10 and 19 per 100,000 people, and nearly all of them are younger than 6.

Leave it to Spawn to pick up something that is rarely seen and very hard to diagnose. He has dramatic flair, I'll give him that.

Oh, and the twist in the story? Because it's not interesting enough on its own, there's a high possibility that he also has herpes stomatitis on top of the Kawasaki.

Well of course he would do that. He's my child, isn't he?

His cocktail right now consists of Acyclovir for the herpes, IVIG and Aspirin for the Kawasaki. If the herpes culture comes back negative tomorrow we'll take him off the Acyclovir.

Blah, blah, blah. I sound like a fucking medical textbook. I've learned so much jargon and doc speak in here I'm beginning to sound rather boring. That's why I added in the swear word. I need me some cussing to prove that I'm still a jobless lowlife and not just another person with a brain.

I've been eating my feelings a lot, too. Guilt free, I might add. It feels nice to say 'today, I am going to have a chocolate bar because my son is very sick and we don't know what's wrong with him and I'm stuck in a small room with no life while I stare at his limp little body and the last thing I care to think about is how many calories are in that thank you very much'.

I've made some acquaintances in the hospital. Since I did too many drugs in my early teens and thus have a hard time remember names, I've made up my own nicknames for them: There's the Lumbar Puncture Demin Doc, who looked fantastically hot in those jeans when he told me the needed to draw fluid from my listless son's spine (being easy on the eyes when delivering potentially devastating news is kind of a superpower). We have Herpes Hero, the resident who specializes in the disease, appreciates that I do my own research and treats me like someone who can, like, think. There's 'Witty Late Night Counter Dude' who I think is the funniest, most sarcastic bastard in the whole hospital so I introduce him to everyone who stops by. And, finally, there's a resident who's name always escapes me, so I call him 'Nice Shoes Guy' for obvious reasons - he has killer taste in footwear. In the middle of one of my numerous crying jags I stopped dead, looked up and him and said 'Wow. Nice shoes.' Every time I see him now I say 'Hey! Nice Shoes Guy! What's kickin'?' and he pretends he's not incredibly annoyed with me.

Since I started writing this post I've had to get up several times to check on Spawn, question the nursing staff on his decreased heart rate, comfort spawn because he's finally waking up when the monitors go off (good sign!) and cover him up because he's getting cold without blankets instead of running a constant fever (even better sign!)

I'll update more tomorrow. The Kawasaki Disease treatment is finished. Now we wait and hope for the best.

Funny thing, life...

Where am I supposed to be right now?

If you had asked me two days ago, I would have said in Peterborough, Ontario, visiting geekster's grandma. I would have explained that the gremlins and I, along with my mom and brother, Hefner, would be frolicking in the lush countryside (can you frolick in the country? Is there frolicking to be had?). We would be spending a relaxing few days keeping the Geekster family matriarch company, visiting the local zoo and forgetting the school fees and supply and clothes shopping is soon to rear it's ugly head. Denial practiced well is the best form of denial.

Where am I supposed to be right now?

I would not have said in an isolation room at the children's hospital while Spawnling is pumped full of drugs. I would not have guessed that in a million years. Not my rough and tumble Spawn.

Here's how it all went down:

on sunday the toddler wonder came down with a fever. No big, right? What toddler doesn't get those? Only genetically engineered super lab-grown ones bred to fight for the United States army (someone's been watching X-files reruns again)

the fever never went away. And worse, still, was the listlessness; the boy has been sleeping for four days straight. Normally I would rejoice, but this is just a bit too much. Eating? Nope. Drinking? Somewhat. Calling people 'stupid'? Not very much, which is a bad sign. The day the fight leaves Spawn is the day I worry. And worried I most certainly am.

Yesterday afternoon was our second trip to the children's hospital. Our first revealed nothing , as we only had a fever to go on. Butby yesterday his mouth had filled with sores, in that horror movie way that looks really gross. I thought he had thrush.

They took us in immediately. The nurse took one look at him and said 'you're not waiting this time'. He was in a room before I could fully process how serious they were taking it. Within 30 minutes the word 'meningitis' was used, and within an hour I was shaking and crying as I signed the consent forms for a lumbar puncture to test his spinal fluid.

I have seen a lot of things, but yesterday was the scariest day of my life.

My mom was here through it all, propping me up both emotionally and physically. Not only is she an RN, but she's seen a lot of illness and a lot of scary moments in her life. Thank goodness she came with me. What would I have done? Picture jello. Now picture it on the floor. That would have been me.

The initial meningitis test camd back negative and his spinal fluid looked clear, but we're still waiting on the bacterial culture results that take 48hrs. Meanwhile, Spawnling is still sleeping 90% of the time in his isolated room and I'm blogging using my fancy new iPhone, so pardon any weird typos or formatting.

The sores all over the inside of his mouth coupled with the fever are indicative of herpes stomatitis, which is non-life-threatening but extremely painful. He's being pumped full of anti-viral drugs to help his body fight it off, and some awesome antibiotics just in case he also has meningitis or some other bacterial infection. His white blood cell count is a little off, but not alarmingly so. We await more results to come in.

He's not out of the woods yet. The listlessness has everyone a little nervous. So if you pray, please do that. And if you think positive thoughts, do that. And if you burn chickens in health ceremonies I'll even condone that right now. He needs to get better fast. Now. I miss him calling me 'stupid', like, a lot. And I miss his laugh even more.

Where am I supposed to be right now? Here, with him. And I wouldn't be anywhere else.