Our first ER visit--It's a doozy.

Warning: Extremely long post below.

If you are REALLY interested in ALL the details, by all means, read. It is mostly for my record.
My journal entry.

I’m up to bat; take a few practice swings and ready my stance. As soon as it is released, I see it. The curve ball. No matter which way I dodge or try to duck, it can’t be avoided. It is coming too hard, too fast. I take a sucker-punch to the gut. And it hurts.

Life’s latest curve ball came in the form of a sick baby. Uncontrollable fever, zero appetite, lethargic, pale, vomiting, diarrhea, congestion in eyes, nose and chest, rapid grunt-like breathing (red flag)-- all happening to an 18 lb. 8-month old. On the third day of his growing symptoms, a Friday, I took him to the doctor, nurse practitioner actually, since that is who was available at Alpine Pediatrics. Not quite confident of her diagnosis of Tylenol and Pedialyte, she pulled in the doctor for a second opinion. He glanced at my lethargic boy, listened for a minute and confirmed that it was just a virus. I pleaded with them, asking what I could do, and questioned the nurse, “Does he have RSV?” She simply said, “I have no idea.” They ordered some blood work and said if he gets worse to bring him back in. “What is worse?” I ask, convinced he can’t possibly get worse than he was right now. They couldn’t give me a clear answer.

Once in the lab, they suctioned Ty’s nose and sent it for testing, which should indicate what virus he had but the results for that wouldn’t be in for a few days. Then he was to have blood drawn. Two nurses searched him for a good vein for nearly 30 minutes, dug around in both his arms and couldn’t find a vein. Baffled, they chalked it up to him being chubby. They called in a more experienced pediatric nurse who still couldn’t find a vein. They poked his finger for a test that would give his white blood count, indicating whether he had an infection. The small amount of blood needed came out very slowly and took at least 20 minutes. Poor Ty fell asleep in the process. All of that should have been another red flag, indicating dehydration. Defeated, I took my sick boy home, with no blood work processing that might help him.

I tried to force fluids, but he wouldn’t have it. How many syringes full of Pedialyte will keep a baby hydrated? I also worried about drying up with my nursing, so I started to pump. The lab called back around 10 p.m. that night with the results of the blood count. She told me that they were within normal limits, but that he still could have an infection. Sounded a bit contradictory to me. We needed to wait on the other ordered tests. I told her they couldn’t get the blood they needed and again wondered what to do about my sick boy. She just said to wait on the suction test. All this time, Ty mostly just slept on me, having no energy to do anything else.

That night Ty had a difficult time breathing so just before 6 a.m., I tried a Nebulizer treatment on him. It seemed to help a little bit and he was able to sleep. I was alternating ibuprofen and Tylenol every 3 hours for his high fever. That morning, I became so worried that I called the doctor’s office again, hoping they would have the results or some advice as to what to do. I spoke with a nurse who said she would call me with the results if they came in and that if he gets any worse, to bring him in again. He was no worse than Friday, but just as bad. I got a phone call from Jen Strauss urging me to be proactive in getting him help. Something similar to this happened a few years ago to her son and Alpine Pediatrics took a back seat to his treatment until it was almost too late. I then called Nicole, wondering what I could do to get him to eat. She urged me to take him to the ER, saying he sounded really bad.

I decided to call our friend and bishopric member, Brayden Brucker, to help assist Todd in giving Ty a blessing. He came over immediately and though Ty cried through it, the blessing said he would recover completely and quickly from the illness that his body was fighting. This brought me comfort.

I watched him more closely and let him sleep in a swing next to me. When he awoke, he started coughing, throwing up something thick and yellow. After his gagging spell, he couldn’t catch his breath and he went limp, completely pale, blue around his eyes and lips. I started to panic, asking Todd what I should do. He seemed to get upset with me and said, “Stop freaking out, Mel! He is breathing. Take him to the ER then, I don’t know!” I know that his is Todd's panic button--he wants to be a fixer. Mine is to literally panic. My body reacted, though my mind fought what I would do next. I grabbed him, put him in the car and left, not even telling Todd where I was headed. I called Alpine Pediatrics again and told them I was coming in to have his oxygen level checked. They transferred me to a nurse who told me they were all booked for appointments that day and that I should just go to the ER. I hesitated only because I knew how expensive an ER visit would be, worried they would send me home with a “it’s just a virus” answer again. I considered going to InstaCare, but found myself in the hospital parking lot. After some more hesitation, I scooped him up and headed into the ER, asking them to check his oxygen levels. From then on, everything only got worse.

Oxygen level was 78 and he started to go more pale and dark around his eyes. They tried to find a vein to put in an IV and once again, poking him everywhere from his head, hands, arms, but weren’t able to find one. He wasn’t putting up much of a fight--a true indicator of how sick he was. He was bottoming-out. He was dehydrated, extremely dehydrated. The more time that went on, the worse he got and 10 medical professionals working on him at once couldn’t fix him. The ER doctor kept using the word “critical” and he said if they couldn’t find a line, they would have to give him an I/O, (graphic video here--view at your own discretion) which meant they would put a line through his tibia, right into his bone marrow, in order to get him hydrated. And that is what they did. It was the most awful thing to see, a plastic rod shoved into my baby’s leg. That is when he really started crying. I knew he was in real pain. And I lost it, almost fainted.

I began to realize this was more serious than I had originally thought. I even asked the doctor if Ty would most likely be staying overnight in the hospital, so which he responded yes. What I thought would be an overnight stay, turned into a 6-day hospital stay.

As they worked on hydrating him enough to put an IV in, they also gave him oxygen. I had so many doctors telling me so many things. I was just trying to hold it all together, completely alone, trying to comfort my little TY on that ER bed by talking to him, touching his arm. He didn’t acknowledge me at all, his eyes rolled back most of the time, quietly whimpering. They finally got enough fluid through his bone marrow to get his veins plump enough for a line in his arm. They kept pumping him full of fluids. Then, the news that gave me another sucker-punch to the gut: He would have to be life-flighted via helicopter to Primary Children’s Hospital in Salt Lake. The shock settled in as I realized the severity of our situation. I couldn’t go with him. The ER doctor told me if I would have waited another day, he would have died. My nurse friend, April, later told me it sounded to her like he was only a few hours away. Again, the thought of it – I just can’t put into words.

I watched my baby go one way, on a stretcher, toward the helicopter, in the care of complete strangers. I urged them to get him there safely. I walked toward my car and started to lose it. As I drove toward home to pick up Todd, the sound of the helicopter pounded above me. It was a surreal feeling, looking above me, seeing the red helicopter, and knowing that my baby is in there, hundreds of feet above me, and I can’t be with him, to soothe or reassure him. He is alone, with no one he knows. I’d like to think Dad, his Grandpa, rode that stretch with him.

Got home, grabbed some necessities and Todd, left the kids in the care of Todd’s dad and we headed up to Primary Children’s Hospital. Once there, Rick met us since he was on his way back from WA when he heard the news. Ty was hooked up to all sorts of things, wires coming out all over the place, but quietly crying the whole time. The ER doctor came, said he was RSV-positive and that we would be admitted. He also said they had tried Ty on regular oxygen, but that he wasn’t responding well to it, so they needed to put him on hi-flow oxygen, which means it was being forced into his nose at 6 liters per minute (which is pretty high). Another disturbing bit of information was that the doctor said we were the third patient that day to be admitted from Alpine Pediatrics. Hmm, someone there is missing some crucial things. From there, we were admitted to the PICU (pediatric ICU). He weakly fussed as the team of health care professionals introduced themselves and were updated on his situation. They could tell he wanted me, so wires and all, they let me hold him. He calmed and for the first time, fell asleep. An empty place in my heart was filled just by having him in my arms again.

The level of care at Primary’s is outstanding. I kept telling Todd that we are at the Ritz Carlton of hospitals, especially in the PICU. Really, I knew and felt comforted in the fact that he was in the best place for him. We are so lucky to live so close to it. My mind kept stressing over how much this was all going to cost, but I just dismissing it, knowing I couldn’t think about that right now. (We have learned, since we came home, that the helicopter ride alone would cost $9800! Thank heavens for insurance!)

They started suctioning him, which allowed him to breathe better. Suctioning isn’t fun. It consists of the nurse sticking a tube down each nostril until it reaches the area just above the vocal chords, which in turn causes him to gag and cough (which is what they want him to do) and then they suction all that junk out. I hated this part and most of the time would excuse myself because I just couldn't hear my boy suffer. Inevitably he would fall asleep right after they suctioned because he could suddenly breathe better.

That first day in the PICU they also discovered he had thrush on his tongue. They treated him the whole time we were there. This poor boy had more than just RSV--along with thrush, he was fighting a stomach bug.

He did a lot of sleeping those first two days. In fact he didn’t acknowledge me or Todd much at all. He wouldn’t ever focus his sight on us and this worried me. I came to learn that is it simply because he just felt awful.

Our bishopric came up Sunday morning to visit, bearing gifts from ward members (food, reading, more food). They gave me a priesthood blessing, which I asked for. I can’t describe the power of that blessing. He blessed me to be a woman of courage over the next few days. He said many other things that brought peace to my troubled soul. There wasn’t a dry eye. The Lord is real. His spirit comforts in time of need. I know it.

Sunday they put a NJ tube in so he could start getting some of my milk, going straight to his intestines. It wouldn't go into his stomach, and he hadn’t eaten for days already, so I worried he would feel hunger pains. Still, they didn’t want to risk the chance of him spitting up and possibly aspirating and causing pneumonia on top of his RSV.

Miraculously, we only had to spend one day in the PICU. Honestly I was worried when they said we could move to a regular floor because I didn’t feel like he was ready. But you have to trust them. He was still hooked up to hi-flow oxygen and a million other machines, but we moved anyway. Now we were in a shared room. Ugh. We were with a teenage girl who sat, chomping on her burger and fries, yelling at her sick baby the entire time. I was ready to lose it and cried to the nurses to please move me to another room because my baby needed to sleep if he was going to get better and he would not sleep with the inconsiderate racket coming from the other side of the curtain. Being deprived of sleep and emotional well-being, I didn't have any patience for a mom who only interacted with her sick daughter by calling her a "Diva" or yelling some sort of other uncomforting thing to her. After some looking around, the charge nurse decided to move my roommate since Ty was “too complicated to move.” We had one night of peace and quiet. The nurses were always considerate and very accommodating.

The next day we got a newborn roommate with RSV. He was only about 6 lbs, teeny. No one was there with him. The mom (teenager again) came in for an hour on two of the nights to hold him. I was so sad. The nurses wouldn’t let me hold him, comfort him. I guess I can understand the liability, but I felt so sad that here Ty-Ty had so many visitor and outpouring of love and this newborn had zero stimulation, no one to hold him. My heart broke.

Ty made a fairly quick turn-around. He started to look at us, smile at us and by the third day, they were able to drop his hi-flow oxygen level to a 4. In fact, the respiratory therapist who came in several times a day told me that from Tuesday to Wednesdays he looked like a different boy. He couldn't believe how much he had improved in such a short amount of time. Ty needed to get off the hi-flow, and onto a level 2 with the regular oxygen, before they would let me try and nurse him. It was hard because I could tell that is what he wanted. He has never done binkies or bottles. His only source of comfort has been me. And I couldn’t comfort him. It tore my up inside knowing I couldn’t comfort my baby boy.

On day 3, he pulled his feeding tube out. They replaced it with a NG tube, which meant my milk would now be going into his stomach. It gave me some relief knowing he wouldn't feel the hunger pains anymore. That night he slept much better.

On day 4, they had tapered his O2 level back enough to allow me to nurse him. We both were so happy and as soon as I nursed him, he calmed right down. After two successful feedings they took his NG tube out. He was still hooked up to heart monitors, oxygen monitors, respiratory monitors and a nasal cannula so for days I could only hold him within a two-foot radius in any direction, because of all the wires and tubing he was hooked up to. This frustrated him. It was either his bed, standing with me or sitting in the chair next to the bed. I could tell he was starting to feel better because he was starting to complain a lot more!

The nights were tough. The nurses tried to taper him back on his oxygen, but he didn't tolerate it great, so it took us until day 6 to be tapered off to nothing. I worried about coming home because I wouldn't have the monitors to tell me when his oxygen level drops. And I would have his first night without oxygen at home. Nights were typically worse. We came home Thursday and, though the nights were rough and I checked on his breathing several times throughout the night, all in all he has made a remarkable recovery! He has been such a trooper.

The kids had a hard time without me so by Thursday morning, Colby said to Todd, "Dad, it's like we don't have a Mom or a baby anymore." Their world was turned upside down. No routine, no Mom and no baby brother to gush over all the time. Family, friends and neighbors helped care for them.

I am truly overcome with amazement and humility at the outpouring of love that was given to my family. The relief society came in, cleaned and sanitized my house (all the toys!) from top to bottom! They washed all blankets, sheets, towels and clothes! The ward provided meals all week for my family! I felt so undeserving of all this love. I really have no adequate words to describe how much I love the people in my ward family, my friends and family members. They are full of Christ-like charity, a pure love. They ask nothing in return. This goes on top of everyone else in the ward they do so much for. Do they never tire? I want so much to be like them. If I could have but half the charity they possess, I would be content. All I have to say to them is thank you. It is not adequate, but thank you. You have, and continue to, bless my life.

So today (Feb. 7) looking at Ty you would never know how sick he was a week ago. He is happy, full of life and back to rolling around the room. He is still trying to get back into his sleep routine. He is a bit more clingy to me, but I don't mind. Still trying to gain back his appetite (he lost about a pound) and has a residual cough, but all in all is doing great! I plan to keep him in this week . At his follow up visit the day after we got home, he was developing another ear infection so he is on antibiotic again for that.

I know that Ty-Ty was healed by the power of the priesthood, through the power of prayer and with some help from some expert care at Primary's. The Lord answers prayers. He held Ty and held me and our whole family through this entire experience. There is no doubt in my mind that there is loving Heavenly Father who aches when we ache, hurts when we hurt and has the power to heal. The priesthood is His power on earth and, if exercised righteously, brings about miracles. His hands go to work through friends, neighbors, family and sometimes complete strangers. Thank you everyone for your prayers. I am grateful for this experience. It has brought our family closer; it has brought me closer to my Savior and makes me realize what is truly important in this life. I love you Ty-Ty. We are so glad to have you still around.