An unexpected hospital stay

I write this blog post from a surprisingly inviting-looking room in the IWK in Halifax. My sweet little Isaiah (I think every time I say his name it's prefixed by "sweet little") is sleeping in the crib nearby, and I am decked out in hospital pajamas.

What in heaven's name happened?!

Well, this morning the boys got up, as cheerful as could be. In fact when I came in their room, Isaiah was standing in his crib and let out a big "hallelujah!" at the sight of me. He seemed his normal, happy, busy self. We fed them then quickly got them going and into the car to head to Mass for the Immaculate Conception. As I mentioned it yesterday, it's my Mom's 60th birthday, and it has been our tradition to attend Mass and have brunch together on her birthday since... well... I was university-aged?

At Mass Isaiah was fussy and acting tired, so Patrick walked him in the back of the church. Our darling baby fell asleep in Daddy's arms, which was rather unusual for 9:30 on a Saturday morning. But we had been going places a lot lately, and he's not used to rushing anywhere first thing in the morning, so I didn't question that.

But when we arrived at my uncle's for brunch after Mass, my aunt pointed out that he was limping. We took off his sock and saw that there was a large pussy abscess on the sole of his foot, with a peculiar hole in the middle. A rashy red streak climbed his leg. 

All the other adults quickly determined he had stepped on something sharp and was getting blood poisoning from whatever it was lodged into his foot. 

My face drained of colour.

We started making our plans to take him to the ER when Noah became utterly, inconsolably hysterical. He's a very protective big brother. That, and me looking upset and panicky was freaking him out.

I agreed to have Patrick take Isaiah and I would stay back with Noah. My heart was breaking for my baby, as well as Daddy who was understandably quite concerned, and, as always, WAY more in control of his emotions than his wife.

After a while we got a call that Isaiah was doing well, but was going to be put on an IV of antibiotics and admitted for at least 24 hours to monitor his infection. My heart broke. I assured Noah that Isaiah was okay, but he needed to be with Mommy now, and with the promise of visiting with the Birthday Gal and some shiny stickers, he couldn't care less that I was leaving.

Well, hours of 'routine' procedures with a squirmy toddler in a great deal of pain were pretty emotionally draining. The insertion of the IV wasn't pretty, where they spent more than 20 minutes taping it down after already stabbing him with a needle while Patrick and I had to forcibly restrain him. Neither was he, or I, a fan of them scraping at the abscess to remove what turned out to be a few tiny shards of broken glass from his foot. That was another half hour of our lives that I hope to never relive. The worst, though, were the x-rays, when it took THREE of us to restrain my screaming, terrified, wailing child.

But the medical team watching over him, and us, were so good. It is such a fine children's hospital! They have done wonders to make him feel comfortable, to respect him as their patient, and to make Patrick and I as at ease as could be expected.

I thought of so many women suffering at the bedside of little ones with much more serious ailments, and I prayed. 

And I continue to, tonight on a foldout bed here in the hospital where I hear the sounds of crying children around me, faintly, but unmistakably.

Sweet Little Isaiah will make it through. He will (most likely) get to sleep in his own bed tomorrow night. These other boys and girls may not.

Let us pray for them, and their parents.