New and soon-to-be parents often daydream about all the things they will experience with their children as they grow. They imagine trips to the zoo, to museums, family vacations to Disney World and the Grand Canyon. I'll bet somewhere a mom-to-be is at this moment planning her baby's first birthday party. A new mom is feeding her infant and wondering what he will be like when he's 17. I know I did. One experience I can guarantee those new parents are not dreaming about is a trip to the Emergency Room.
And yet, that's one eventuality that every parent should plan for, because it will happen. If you're really, really lucky, you'll visit the ER only once during your child's growing up years. But I can tell you that your odds of winning the $48 million powerball are much better. So far we have made a total of seven trips to the ER with Greg. I say "so far" because he's still a minor (if only for 6 more months), but, even after he turns 18, he'll still be on our health insurance plan (we hope). Parental concern aside, we'll have to accompany him to the ER if only because we have to sign the treatment consent form as the "responsible party."
Which brings me to our most recent visit to the Olathe Medical Center's emergency care area. That would be today. Greg spent most of the day Saturday vomiting, the unhappy victim of a particularly nasty stomach virus that hit him hard. By 9:00 am, after his eighth run to the bathroom, I decided we needed to get him to a doctor. Well, as everyone knows, primary care physicians' offices are rarely open on Sundays. The walk-in clinic didn't open until noon. Considering the paleness of Greg's skin and the dryness of his lips, I figured the walk-in staff would just send him to OMC anyway. So, hey, by 17 years old, he knows the drill. We skipped the middle man and made a beeline for the ER.
It was most definitely the right call. Yes, he was dehydrated. They hooked him up to an IV and gave him anti-nausea medications. We were there for most of three hours while they gave him two full bags of fluids. When he was able to keep down fluids sipped from a cup as well as some crackers, they sent him home, where he has been asleep ever since.
This was, by my count, our 7th visit to the ER -- not including his birth, which took place in an OR in the maternity ward. I had the easiest of pregnancies -- no morning sickness, no nausea, no complications. But, by the middle of my third trimester, I had developed preeclampsia, which resulted in a c-section and a nightmarish recovery. Preeclampsia is characterized by high fever, high blood pressure, a drop in platelet counts, and fluid retention (which puts the patient's kidneys in danger of shutting down). I experienced all of that; in fact, I've never been sicker in my whole life. For me, the possibility that I could have a recurrence with a subsequent pregnancy was enough to make the decision to stop with one child. In fact, it turns out that preeclampsia runs in families. My mother had it while pregnant with me, and my sister showed signs of it in her own pregnancies. Suffice to say, I have never regretted that decision.
Still, it didn't occur to me as a new mom that I would become a frequent buyer of OMC's emergency services. Maybe it's because my only visit to the ER as a child was to accompany my sister who had cut her forehead on the bedrail of my bed in an unsuccessful attempt to jump from her bed to mine. The cut required stitches. It was excruciating! It took so long; the whole ordeal was extremely painful and uncomfortable. And that was just sitting in the waiting room! I'm sure it wasn't much fun for my sister, either. Yes, I was one of those blessedly sedentary kids who spent more time reading a book than doing something physical, thereby greatly reducing the risk of injury. I didn't really get the full benefit of the ER experience until adulthood. Now I consider myself sort of an expert.
I had some time to reflect on this while I was sitting in the room this morning waiting for Greg to rehydrate. Some of those visits turned out to be inconsequential -- nothing more than an inner ear infection. But, when your toddler is obviously in pain and sobbing uncontrollably at 2:00 in the morning, what else do you do? Some of those visits, however, were more memorable. Here, then, are some of the highlights:
Why You Shouldn't Run With Sharp Objects (Or, Why You Can Never Completely Child-proof Your House No Matter How Hard You Try)
Scene : Early evening, summertime. I suggested to 2-year-old Greg that we go out for ice cream (Steve was at a gig). While I was collecting my purse and car keys, Greg ran outside. Within seconds I heard a blood curdling scream followed by hysterical crying. Unbeknownst to me, Greg had a pencil in his hand when he ran outside. You guessed it -- he dropped the pencil, then promptly tripped and fell on it. The pencil left a long, nasty-looking abrasion across his cheek; it stopped mere centimeters from his eye -- this is what your mother meant when she yelled, "You could put your eye out!" The cool part, though, was literally watching the abrasion heal, right before my own eyes. Young children's cells are constantly dividing and new ones growing; you can actually watch the regeneration in real time. Pretty amazing.
We Told You to Leave the Poor Cat Alone!
Scene: December, 1996. Our 10-year-old cat, Goblin, was dying of cancer. He had a tumor on his tongue, which made it very difficult for him to eat. He had lost a lot of weight and was very weak. Yet, 4-year-old Greg persisted in tormenting the poor cat -- chasing him, grabbing his tail, trying to pick him up. Finally, Goblin resorted to the only defense he had: he bit Greg on the hand. We cleaned the wound and treated it with Neosporin and a bandaid. But cat bites can be tricky. Even healthy cats have bacteria in their saliva that can cause infection. Sure enough, in the wee hours of the morning, Greg awoke feverish and crying, his hand swollen from a developing infection.
The ER visit included X-rays of the injury (to make sure there was no tendon damage), a tetanus shot, and a vigorous course of antibiotics. The follow-up activities included an appointment the following day with a hand surgeon (in case there was damage to Greg's hand -- he could possibly lose all or partial use of it!) . . . and a 3:00 am home visit from an Animal Control Officer. Note to pet owners with small children: If your pet bites your child and he is treated in the ER, the ER staff are required by law to report the bite to Animal Control. An officer will then come to collect the animal in question for a 10-day quarantine to watch for signs of rabies. Even if the animal has recently been vaccinated for rabies, as Goblin was. However, they are not equipped to take a terminally ill pet, as there is no veterinarian on staff. In that case, the pet must be quarantined at your vet's clinic at your expense. Hopefully your vet is like ours -- wise, compassionate, and sensible -- and he will convince the officer that the cat would be much more comfortable being quarantined at home. Goblin passed away six weeks later. Greg's hand sustained no damage, thus no surgery was required. And he learned to be much nicer to the cats.
If, After Falling Off a Trampoline on Your Arm, You Feel Shooting Pain, Tingling, and/or Numbness -- For Pete's Sake, GO TO THE HOSPITAL!
Okay, the title pretty much says it all, but let me fill in the details. 16-year-old Greg was at a friend's house jumping on a trampoline. No spotters, not much thought given to safety, as evidenced by the fact that Greg decided to dismount by jumping off. He jumped at an odd angle and put his arm out to catch his fall. Landing on his arm with his full body weight resulted in a great deal of pain, tingling, and even numbness. He treated the injured arm by going inside the house and lying on the couch. Two hours later, his arm hurting worse, he decided to drive home. Minutes from home, Greg called on his cell phone to say that he was on his way home, and, oh-by-the-way, he hurt his arm jumping off a trampoline -- "probably just a sprain." When he arrived home, it was obvious this was a little more serious than a sprain. The X-ray at the ER confirmed it: hairline fracture just below the elbow. Two weeks in a cast, another week with the arm in a sling. Greg's lucky it was only three weeks; it could have been much worse and much longer. Still, it was his right arm that was injured, and he's right-handed. Three weeks of not being able to write or eat (it's hard to hold a pen or a fork very well when your entire lower arm is immobilized) taught him a lesson. We think.
Comparatively, today's visit was pretty tame. Knowing he would probably be there for awhile, I brought a book. Greg dozed while the fluids dripped into his veins through the IV; I read The World is Flat by Thomas Friedman. In fact, we had been in this particular situation before. Fifteen years ago, Steve was hospitalized for dehydration brought on by a similar illness. I brought a wide-eyed Greg to the hospital to visit his dad. Taking note of the tubes running in and out of Steve's arm, Greg, then 3 years old, earnestly asked him, "Do you have fluids and liquids?" Today it was Greg's turn to get the "fluids and liquids." He winced a little when the nurse stuck the IV needle in his arm, but it was really no big deal. After all, he's a pro.
Above photo: Greg, age 4 or 5, in front of our house in the snow.
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