Saturday, May 4, 2013

Jacob Back in the Hospital, and Not Dying

Is it me, or do the doctors at the hospital look like teenagers?

I’m not talking about the volunteers or the techs/nurse’s assistants.  I keep meeting these people who look like they should be taking highschool classes and going to seminary dances, and then they say things like, “Hi, I’m the resident!” or “Hello, I’m the intern”.

I’m certainly not disparaging them or saying they’re doing a bad job.  They’re great.  But it must be saying something about how old I’m getting.

Playing Minecraft with his bro
Anyway, this time it seems like he’s had more issues with his guts being all plugged up, and not so much trouble with his lungs.  He’s been pretty cheerful through the whole experience, except for the day he had to get the catheter and the enema.  I’m glad I wasn’t up here with him when that happened.  Yeesh.

The other day, when I came up to visit, the call came out over the intercom for a Mormon Elder, which I am.  That meant that someone needed an Administration for a Blessing.  I went and assisted (it takes two), and as I met the family, and listened to the prayer being offered, I realized that these parents were in fear for the life of their child.

We come up to the hospital a lot.  Appointments, clinics, a clean-out once or twice a year, even an occasional surgical procedure, etc.  These things are important, and very serious. But it has been a very, very long time since I have felt total fear that my child would die.

I remember one time, when we were in for a cleanout, he had a bad fever, and he went into a full-on grand mal seizure.  They gave him anti-seizure medicine, and he stopped breathing.  They had to get the breathing bag on him three times.  Alarms were going off and the staff got real focused and serious for about a half hour until he got stabilized.  I was terrified.

And, of course, when he was born, two months early, and whisked from the first hospital up to Primary Children’s the first time (on Life-flight, no less), with a ruptured intestine.  We were scared for his life, then, too.

In the special-medical-needs world, we often find ourselves in situations where, at least on the inside, we look at a family and say, “I’m sure glad I’m not in their place”.  We often don’t realize that they’re saying the same thing about us.  But this time made me remember times that were scarier, and made me more grateful that these hospital stays, while being important and serious, are not because he’s at death’s door.

At least not this time.