Hot Tamales

Even though my taste buds were expecting something even a little more delicious, my heart sure did enjoy itself some homemade tamales last night. 

The little creations were a gift from a patient who I met during one of my first shifts in the ER here in Grand Island and who I've been able to follow in clinic over the last few months.  I've been able to get to know her, her grandson, and their story in a matter of about 15 minutes every month.  Despite different languages, ages, nationalities, socioeconomic statuses,  etc... we've kind of bonded.  Maybe it's because we're both women or mothers, or maybe because we both like to eat (and despite that, we've still been able to cut her A1C in half!).  Regardless, I would almost say we're friends.  But now one of my first Grand Island patients is moving away.  Hopefully, she's leaving healthier and better educated about her disease.  And I'm staying here with a warm heart and a full stomach.

(And on a 100% totally different topic... why are all of these horrible cruise ship stories happening when we are trying to plan our first cruise ever for this summer?  Is this a sign?  Maybe God, like Jason, wants us to go on the Lewis and Clark historical tour instead after all.)

Tidbits

It isn't for a lack of things to write about, it's more because of a lack of time to write about such things.  And then, once I get behind on sharing all of my happenings, I don't know where to start.  Now, however, I have a brief, free, quiet lunch hour with  just me and the computer.  So, here's a couple of quick tidbits of the last few weeks.  You'll have to bug me later if you want all the details, because I'd love to share when there's a little more time.

• AEDs work in real life like they do during ACLS training.
• We waited 7 years to see Blue Man group, and got to do it on someone else's dime.  (Thanks Family Practice of G.I.!)
• I'm glad that cardiac stress tests can be normal and reassuring.
• Pink eye has almost run its course.
• To my surprise Griffin didn't pee on the ultrasound tech.  (But not surprised that we'll probably be talking about surgery when we meet with the Urologists at UNMC next month.)
• We've almost met our health insurance deductible already.  Yep, it's only January.
• Jason was in a rare, 1-hour, "shopping mood" last week.
• I found a Beth Moore study again.  Yeah!!  So excited.
• The passenger side door on the Buick is fixed.
• Owen pooped on the potty... only once... and he peed all over the floor and on my leg before that.
• I still love holding up a wet, bloody, vernix-y, wrinkly, freshly born baby and saying "Congratulations!"
• Now, I'm off to clinic.
 

It Poured

The saying goes: "When it rains, it pours."  And it was Pouring last week - with a capital P.

Sunday.  Our punishment for having fun on New Year's eve and not putting the boys to bed at their usual bedtime - or even within a few hours of their usual bedtime.

Monday.  The Huskers "played."  (I actually picked them to lose in the bowl pool, so I guess it wasn't all bad.  Especially considering I'm cleaning house in that bowl pool.  #1, baby!  And, not too rub salt in his wounds, but guess who's at the bottom of the boards... hee, hee <insert evil laugh>.)  

Tuesday.  You heard all about that already, and Griffin's doing just fine now if you're wondering.  I didn't get to post this picture before because it was on Jason's phone, but now I just can't resist.

(That's an IV in his head, and half of a cup decorated with a Thomas
the train sticker covering it to protect it from curious fingers.)

Wednesday.  Home with a sick baby.  6 months to go, and already almost out of sick days.

Thursday.  Be ready.  Here's the kicker.  I was minding my own business at OB clinic when my phone buzzed Thursday morning.  I usually don't hear my phone in the middle of the day, and if I do, I don't usually answer it.  But for some reason, my curiosity with this unknown number got to me, and I answered it.  It was my bank.  My bank? "Are you missing your debit card?"  Crap!  I've haven't been able to find my wallet since before Christmas.  I thought, for sure, it was at the bottom of Owen's toy box, or under the bed, or in a purse, or buried in our junk drawer, or tucked up under the seat in the car.  I just didn't bother to look too hard for it because I knew if I couldn't find it then, I would panic.  Guess I should have been panicking.  "An officer from the Hastings police department called and reported that he found your card in someone else's possession this morning," the banker informed me.  Double Crap!!  That yucky, violated, angry, embarrassed, sick feeling filled my stomach.  Argh.  To make a long story short, it could have been a lot worse.  It took all of a few minutes to freeze all of my bank accounts and credit reports.  Then it took a few hours to file the police report.  So far, our bank accounts and my credit report seem intact.  My eye will be on it closely to keep it that way.  All it all it was another hit to my pride, already aching from Tuesday, and another terrible event in an already terrible week.

Friday.  4:20-AM C-section to start the day.

Saturday.  All day I felt like the weather.  Not hot.  Not cold.  No rain.  No sun.  Just cloudy and dreary.

Sunday.  Today.  Thankfully, I've made it through today unscathed... so far.  Hopefully, this is the start to a much better week.

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.)