The end
October 27, 2006 at 1:29 (This is the final installment in a three-part series. If you would like to start at the beginning, scroll down to the post titled "Why I Support St. Jude's.")
After more than a week in the hospital, my son had a CAT scan that located an infection in his abdomen, behind the incision from his surgery. This meant a second surgery, and I didn’t even try to hide my anguish from the doctors—up until this point everything had gone wrong. I’d lost my ability to believe in good outcomes. Happily, this surgery went well.
The incision was reopened and the infection was cleaned out. My son’s fever immediately broke and he was remarkably perky in the recovery room. Unfortunately the incision could not be closed. We were told it had to heal from the inside out in case any bacteria were lingering there. My son now had a four-inch wide incision just below his belly that was a gaping wound. It would need to remain bandaged and be packed with saline-soaked gauze; three times a day, the old packing would need to be removed and new packing put in.
“Can you do it?” the surgeon asked.
As if I had any choice. I wanted my son to heal, I wanted to take him home as quickly as possible, I would steel myself to do whatever I had to do to accomplish that.
The first time they showed me his incision, I was freaked out. An entire fat roll of gauze had been packed into it. I watched with disbelief as the doctor used tweezers to carefully extract what looked like two feet of gauze, and then used swabs to poke more gauze in. E couldn’t bear watching, and admitted he couldn’t handle dealing directly with the incision at all. I swallowed my fear and revulsion and over the course of a day or two, learned how to pack and dress my son’s wound. The constant putting down and tearing off of the surgical tape was damaging his tender skin, so the nurses worked on a system to hold his dressings in place.
We finally got to go home TEN days after we’d arrived at the hospital for what we thought would be a half-day visit. We hired a nurse to come and help with the dressing changes. Our insurance company only covered a limited number of home health care visits and E had to travel for work so I was often doing the dressing changes completely on my own. Cathy, the visiting nurse, worked with me and gave me courage. Her entire home health career had revolved around adults, most of them elderly. She had never had a pediatric patient before and had to adjust. We were in this together, and she did an amazing job.
The day I took my son to the hospital for his final post-op checkup, I started to bleed. The next day I was at my doctor’s office, watching with dread as my obstetrician’s face reflected bad news during the ultrasound. She sent me off for blood work.
It was Halloween. I heard the staff hush as I walked out of the office, and I knew the blood tests would confirm what the ultrasound suggested: I was losing the baby. I was nearly 12 weeks along and wondered whether the stress I’d experienced at the hospital had caused me to miscarry. I’ll never know.
The good news is my son fully recovered from his surgery, though he had horrible nightmares for months afterwards. While I was devastated by my miscarriage and had to have a D & C, I became pregnant again two months later and was blessed with my little girl. Interestingly enough, she was born a year to the day of my son’s surgery—a karmic consolation prize for all the heartache we’d endured.
Despite our happy ending, I’ve never forgotten the horrors of the pediatric wing and the challenges and pain faced by the children and parents who spend time there. What could be worse than having a seriously ill or chronically ill child?
This is why E and I donate to St. Jude’s. Anything we can do to make a sick child’s life better matters more than we can express. I encourage you to consider supporting your local children’s hospital or a research hospital like St. Jude’s. The children, the parents, and the staff need and deserve our prayers and contributions.
October 27, 2006
Copyright 2006 Veronica McCabe Deschambault. All rights reserved. www.v-grrrl.com
Reader Comments (12)
It was a liability and health issue. What if I accidentally dropped or harmed the baby? What if I exposed it to infection or exposed myself to infection from the child in the process of handling it?
My logical mind understood this, but my heart couldn't bear it. I'm not exagerrating when I say that seeing and hearing the other patients crying accounted for at least half the stress of that hospital stay.
At night all the babies would get benadryl and their TVs would be turned on for company. It was so sad....
Thank you so much for sharing this. It is a medal of honor.
oxox ;)
I held back from commenting because I wanted to read all three parts. And for the last three nights in a row you've brought back my own tearful memories of my second daughter's birth and how she fought to stay alive in neonatal ICU. Born a month earlier, lack of oxygen during her delivery, fluids in her lung, two chest drains in her tiny body, drugs that weren't working on her and doctors that informed me twice in 20 days that my baby's situation was bleak and to prepare myself for the worst. A month and half later she was out of ICU...
I tried to write a short narrative as a comment but it is impossible to get through it without crying. Fittingly, Daughter#2's name is Anastasia, she is named after my husband's father (Anastasios) and her name means "resurrection". When I think that this child's love and laughter might not have been in my life I break down. My baby's struggle for life and the stories of the other babies who died or fought back and made it home marked me forever.
A decade later, I had to relive a mother's worst nightmare when my eldest daughter was diagnosed with a malevolent thyroid nodule and had a total thyroidectomy. Every six months since the operation we've had to check if there is metastasis.
I think sometimes my need to laugh is trying to compensate for the tears I've shed not only for my children but the heart-wrenching images and stories of infants, toddlers, children and young adults I met, touched hands with, smiled at, played peek-a-boo with in the hospitals.
A visit to any hospital's children ward will snap people's priorities in place and remind us if what is important.
Thank you for having the strength to share your story of courage.
Athena
This three part story of your son was indeed heart-wrenching, not only for the pain and anguish suffered for you son, but for the tragic situation of the babies and children who are left there for days or never get any nurturing at all. I don't think there is anything quite so sad as a defenseless child abandoned to his/her own fate, with no one nearby to comfort them.
Thank you for reminding us of such a worthy charity. I am hopping over to their website now.
My son was born 7 weeks premature so he started life in the NICU. While small, he wasn't plagued with the usual preemie complications--breathing problems, digestive issues, or bleeding on the brain.
It was not overly traumatic but it was exhausting. I had to pump breast milk for him every two hours and it was fed to him through his stomach tube. No sleep. But then again, what new mother gets to sleep?
I'm sorry for all you've been through with your daughters and the concerns that cloud their health these days, but I'm glad you hold the joy of their presence close to your heart and never take it for granted.
V-Grrrl
Thank you for sharing your story and reminding us all why it is so important to give back.