Our week in review
What a week we've had!
Sunday the 13th, I was just getting a few things organized for Mass, and Noah and I were playing some music on youtube; all was normal and well. He went very still for one moment and then promptly threw up. I was a little concerned, naturally, but because he was playing so well and acting otherwise normally, I didn't think too much of it. We went downstairs to eat our breakfast and he requested a drink of water. That came up right away, too.
And so began a several-day long journey. Noah couldn't keep anything down and was so shockingly listless that by Tuesday morning, I insisted we go to the doctor. Patrick agreed.
The doctor checked him out, told us to give him some Children's Advil and Children's Gravol (for his slight fever and nausea/vomiting) and come back two days later if he didn't improve.
My poor heart worried and fretted as I sweated, mopped up vomit, held clammy hands that were noticeably and frighteningly less chubby, and prayed. Still Noah was almost motionless. He barely responded to anything Patrick or I said to him. His only few expressions or gestures were for more food or water, which he would promptly vomit, or asking to be put to bed.
Back to the doctor we went on Thursday morning, only to have him say, "He doesn't show signs of severe dehydration, but I think you should bring him to the IWK to have him checked out just in case."
"Where?" I asked, my heart beating more rapidly.
"The ER."
So off we went, our first trip to the ER with our little boy. I sat in the backseat with Noah and sang to him both to keep his spirits lifted as well as my own. Meanwhile, I was having Braxton-Hicks contractions that were so strong, they were taking my breath away. I prayed so hard that we wouldn't have to face preterm labour on top of everything else! (Obviously, we didn't!)
Noah started to perk up on the way there, so I was hopeful. When we arrived, they made us give him a vial of Pedialyte every ten minutes while we waited to get his fluids up -- if he didn't keep it down, he'd need an IV. Panicked at the thought, we dutifully got him to take his medicine, despite him screaming and crying so miserably and heart-breakingly.
We thank God that when we was finally seen, he was much better. They sent us home with more Pedialyte (and I can I just say how I wished the doctor had suggested that in the first place? As well as not suggesting Gravol, which we were told is dreadful for babies and toddlers to take when they have the flu, because it MAKES them listless, confusing us as to whether or not they are dehydrated!). We were amazed at how different he was even that night.
The following day, he was back
to normal. Running around, begging for food (understandably, after a five-day 'fast'!) and playing with his trains. We even made the decision to attend the Gala dinner we had tickets for and my parents graciously babysat!
I was really on the fence until the last moment about going to this dinner, because it seemed 'selfish' after he had suffered so much that week. But I reminded myself that I had been through the ringer, too, and needed some nurturing. Thankfully, Noah had a lovely time with my parents, was really back to his old self.
Incidentally, I didn't do my Lenten cleaning list for the week -- I figured the mopping of vomit and copious, copious laundry was plenty of work in itself. I didn't have my intended prayer time at night, but rather lots of whispered frightened prayers all day long of "God please make him better!" I didn't do much of anything when Noah finally fell asleep at night; instead, I, too, crashed atop a very cumbersome big belly.
I am so grateful that all is well now. Noah is back to his usual self, Patrick and I seem to have escaped the virus ourselves, and life is back to normal.
Mostly, I am so grateful for what didn't happen. While we were in the IWK, we saw a child about three years taken from an ambulance. She was strapped to a stretcher and her mother stood next to her, bravely trying to console her daughter. It was so heartbreaking to see.
There but for the grace of God go I.
Sunday the 13th, I was just getting a few things organized for Mass, and Noah and I were playing some music on youtube; all was normal and well. He went very still for one moment and then promptly threw up. I was a little concerned, naturally, but because he was playing so well and acting otherwise normally, I didn't think too much of it. We went downstairs to eat our breakfast and he requested a drink of water. That came up right away, too.
And so began a several-day long journey. Noah couldn't keep anything down and was so shockingly listless that by Tuesday morning, I insisted we go to the doctor. Patrick agreed.
The doctor checked him out, told us to give him some Children's Advil and Children's Gravol (for his slight fever and nausea/vomiting) and come back two days later if he didn't improve.
My poor heart worried and fretted as I sweated, mopped up vomit, held clammy hands that were noticeably and frighteningly less chubby, and prayed. Still Noah was almost motionless. He barely responded to anything Patrick or I said to him. His only few expressions or gestures were for more food or water, which he would promptly vomit, or asking to be put to bed.
Back to the doctor we went on Thursday morning, only to have him say, "He doesn't show signs of severe dehydration, but I think you should bring him to the IWK to have him checked out just in case."
"Where?" I asked, my heart beating more rapidly.
"The ER."
So off we went, our first trip to the ER with our little boy. I sat in the backseat with Noah and sang to him both to keep his spirits lifted as well as my own. Meanwhile, I was having Braxton-Hicks contractions that were so strong, they were taking my breath away. I prayed so hard that we wouldn't have to face preterm labour on top of everything else! (Obviously, we didn't!)
Noah started to perk up on the way there, so I was hopeful. When we arrived, they made us give him a vial of Pedialyte every ten minutes while we waited to get his fluids up -- if he didn't keep it down, he'd need an IV. Panicked at the thought, we dutifully got him to take his medicine, despite him screaming and crying so miserably and heart-breakingly.
We thank God that when we was finally seen, he was much better. They sent us home with more Pedialyte (and I can I just say how I wished the doctor had suggested that in the first place? As well as not suggesting Gravol, which we were told is dreadful for babies and toddlers to take when they have the flu, because it MAKES them listless, confusing us as to whether or not they are dehydrated!). We were amazed at how different he was even that night.
The following day, he was back
to normal. Running around, begging for food (understandably, after a five-day 'fast'!) and playing with his trains. We even made the decision to attend the Gala dinner we had tickets for and my parents graciously babysat!I was really on the fence until the last moment about going to this dinner, because it seemed 'selfish' after he had suffered so much that week. But I reminded myself that I had been through the ringer, too, and needed some nurturing. Thankfully, Noah had a lovely time with my parents, was really back to his old self.
Incidentally, I didn't do my Lenten cleaning list for the week -- I figured the mopping of vomit and copious, copious laundry was plenty of work in itself. I didn't have my intended prayer time at night, but rather lots of whispered frightened prayers all day long of "God please make him better!" I didn't do much of anything when Noah finally fell asleep at night; instead, I, too, crashed atop a very cumbersome big belly.
I am so grateful that all is well now. Noah is back to his usual self, Patrick and I seem to have escaped the virus ourselves, and life is back to normal.
Mostly, I am so grateful for what didn't happen. While we were in the IWK, we saw a child about three years taken from an ambulance. She was strapped to a stretcher and her mother stood next to her, bravely trying to console her daughter. It was so heartbreaking to see.
There but for the grace of God go I.
I'm so, so, SO glad Noah is well and happy now! It's so scary when our little ones are *really* sick for the first time. I'll never forget the day we took little Norah to her doctor and he sent us straight over to the ER, thinking she may have pneumonia. She was about 6 WEEKS old! Scary, scary stuff, this motherhood business.
ReplyDeleteWe had an almost identical bout of stomach flu with Thomas when he was a toddler. He had to get the IV and it was all just so sad. But thankfully, they do bounce back...it is just us Mamas that need more of a recovery period than they do!
ReplyDeleteHang in there Jenna! God bless you.