On the Other Side of the ER

The proof that this blog has been neglected lately is that I didn't even realize it had been briefly hijacked by my husband until yesterday.  I guess that's what happens during the busy holiday season, and thankfully, Jason did a great job in my absence.

Fortunately, and unfortunately, I have some extra time today to write because of a sick baby.  Trust me, it is not fun when my roles of mom and doctor collide - when I'm torn between researching differential diagnoses for a bulging fontanelle versus just rocking the crying baby to whom that fontanelle belongs.

Yesterday, I found myself in that terrible crossroads.  My phone beeped with a voice mail from daycare in the middle of my afternoon clinic.  Griffin had a fever and needed to be picked up.  Sure enough, a fever of 103.  Jason hated to leave his day of exciting meetings (*wink, wink*), but agreed to come home early under the circumstances.

A dose of Tylenol, his humidifier, and some good rest was what I figured my little G needed.  I peeked in on him after dinner as he was whimpering away in his crib with his big, puffy, tired, red eyes.  In an effort to console him I rubbed my hand over his bald head.  It was hot.  As hot as Jason's new chimenea in the backyard, which, at that moment, was burning the box it came in - styrofoam and all.  But, not only was my hand met with the warmth of his fever, it also found a thumping, tense, bulge in place of the soft spot on his shiny pale dome.  As many times as I felt this place as I've picked at his cradle cap or as I've dreamed of the long locks that will surely be growing in, it had never felt like this. 

Doctor mode kicked in.  Mom mode kicked out.  High fever plus bulging fontanelle equals meningitis.  Meningitis equals spinal tap and IV antibiotics.  Spinal tap and IV antibiotics equals a trip to the ER.  But, wait, I've seen kids in the hospital with meningitis before, and they acted a lot sicker than Griffin.  He was still eating, sleeping, peeing, and even cracking a smile in the right moments.  Meningitis? 

Still, I couldn't shake it.  Should I be a bad mom and keep my baby at home with a possible serious infection, or should I be a pathetic doctor and take my own baby to clog up the ER with a virus?  I debated.  I rubbed his head to double, triple, quadruple, 54-ple check that I wasn't making it up.  Before committing a blow to my pride by showing my face in the ER where I worked on the other side of the counter just a matter of weeks ago, and before committing our budget to the blow of an over-priced ER bill (because we DO have insurance), I wanted someone else to tell me I wasn't crazy.  After a few unanswered calls followed by a few returned calls, I had my reassurance and we headed to the ER. 

Honestly, it was weird and uncomfortable to be on the other end of things.  Do I use medical lingo?  Do I look at the monitors or ask about his lab values?  Do I calculate his IV fluid rate?  Do I ask for the T-sheet and fill it out myself?  Ugh, it was awkward.  It was even more awkward when Griffin flashed his big smile at everyone who walked in the room.  Couldn't he at least put on his whimpering, sick face instead of his completely healthy one.  Where did his puffy eyes go?  However, shortly thereafter, they found his temperature to be back at 102.7, and they were in agreement that the bulge on his head was not normal.

It was every one's favorite time in the ER - shift change, so we were told that the doctor taking over would be in to likely do the spinal tap and we would be moving up from the back rooms to one closer to the front.  (Secretly, even though I didn't want G to be sick and I could think of a thousand other places I'd rather be, I was glad that it wasn't just a "It's a virus.  Go home, and call your doctor in the morning" ER visit.)

Then, a dose of Motrin (which I hesitated to give him at home as he's just shy of the magic 6 month mark) was followed by two hours of needle pokes, IV starts, blood cultures, catheters, a fluid bolus, lots of pacifiers dunked in Sweeties, and a chest X-ray.  It was amazing what two hours (or that dose of Motrin) can do.  The heat radiating off his powdery skin had cooled, and his fontanelle was softening up and looking more like the plains of Nebraska and less like the mountains of Colorado.  We discussed the options of continuing with spinal tap, giving a shot of antibiotics, or just watching now that things looked less serious.  I was happy to forgo another needle, and it wasn't too much longer and we were out the door and back in our living room.

It's done.  He's better.  My lesson's learned.  No regrets.  (At least until we get the bill.)