From the bad, good comes…

J got sick.  Really, really sick.  It was sudden, and it was brutal.  Poor guy went from Whee!!!!! to a holy-cow-wow fever in less than two hours.  And then came the stomach issues…

We went to Urgent Care.  No flu, no infection, no strep…  We came home.  It got worse.

We ran to the ER.  We hadn’t done that in quite a while.

J was feeling poorly enough that he didn’t argue.  He surrendered to all the ministrations of the healthcare professionals without so much as a peep…and one of them was the nurse version of Columbo..

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without the redeeming quality of sharp intelligence behind the apparent bumbling.  Ok, not even the bumbling was apparent.  It was real.  She freaked us out, but we couldn’t say anything because we needed J to stay calm.

The urine sample left on the counter for the whole time we were there was a wee bit much (no pun intended), and the trail of used alcohol wipes was not particularly comforting.  I kept thinking to myself that we need to time these things better and get a fresh shift when we go, but one cannot really time these things…

So we had to let J get his vein poked four times…twice for blood, and twice for an IV.  He was not stoic about it, but he kept the anxiety to a minimum.  He wasn’t feeling well, but he understood that he needed to let himself be poked so he could feel better.

And then came the part where they suggested an abdominal scan.  I had wondered if maybe it was appendicitis, but I wasn’t sure they’d take me seriously.  They did.  The kindest tech in the planet came over to get J, and had the most soothing, comforting attitude without being condescending.  I took the Proloquo and immediately added a picture of the scanner so J could start understanding what was about to happen.  He wasn’t happy, but he let us take him.

J doesn’t like laying flat.  I think it makes him dizzy.  He sleeps at an angle…always has.  His sit-ups are more like lean-forwards.  If you ask him to lie down the immediate reaction is to kick himself upright with his legs.  Being moved from a gurney to the bed for the scan was not something he wanted to do.  He sat down, yelped, and got up again…

BUT…

He let me persuade him to relax and lie down.  He had his head propped up, and his legs propped up.  He wasn’t happy, but he did it.  We took a moment (thanks to the lovely, lovely technician) to look at each other, breathe deeply, and calm down.  Then J let me position him, saw how I got the gown on to cover my sensitive bits, and I stood next to him, holding his hands over his head while he listened to his iPad and breathed.  He breathed deeply.  He breathed calmly.  He would move his eyes and look at me.  He would squeeze my hands…

It was all very quick.  He was as good as gold.  I was close to tears with gratitude for the moment.  When I went to let go of his hand so I could go around to help him get up, he squeezed my hand again, and wouldn’t let me go.

The beautiful thing about this moment is that J wasn’t freaking out.  He was calm.  He was relaxed.  He had done something (to us) extraordinary, but he was fine with the whole process once he took those deep breaths and we connected.  The beautiful thing about this moment is that J TRUSTED me, and I could tell that he was wanting to prolong it for a little while longer.

Six hours after we got there, we got sent home.  It’s just a nasty stomach bug.  A REALLY nasty stomach bug.  J arrived here with the intention of going to bed, even though the sun was out.  He accepted that he was to eat according to the list provided, that he had to take one medication to help him stop throwing up, and that he could only drink water in smaller amounts until he was feeling better.

Today he has improved, and is more himself.  Loves me one minute; hates me the next.  Wants me around, hounds me, kicks me out of the room.  He has FINALLY learned the ASL for SICK, and now says it over and over.  SICK?  SICK?  Not quite so much as yesterday, son…not quite so much.  He’s slowly been recovering from the ugliness he was feeling, and little by little he is eating more things from the list, and accepting still that his regular diet is a no-go.

Dada, of course, is now thinking he’s ready to get sick.  I, of course, am equipped with gloves, Clorox, Lysol, and the caution that comes with the realization that I cannot let this go around and around and around.  You pick up a water bottle, you write your name on it…it’s yours and yours alone.  Time to change sheets?  Time to wash towels?  Time to check if a butt is properly wiped?  GLOVES!  I am a one-woman cleaning crew on a mission…

In a few days, when everyone is better, I will swap out the toothbrushes, deep clean the bathrooms all over again…and we will, maybe, get down to the business of Twelve Days.

Right now we are just trying to get back on track, and helping J recover from this nasty bout of whatever viral thing it is he found and brought home randomly.  The cart-wipes they offer at the stores?  We’re using them.  The antibacterial goo that doesn’t really do anything?  We’re using it.  Seeing J sick is grueling emotionally because it’s so hard for him, even with the Proloquo, to put into words some of his misery…

But we’re getting there…we’re getting better.  We’re dealing with it…and our son TRUSTS ME!

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2 thoughts on “From the bad, good comes…

  1. You. Are. Awesome. I’m glad he’s feeling better, and that you got such a gift out of the whole horrid experience; feeling Trust is a beautiful thing! Best wishes, G

    • It was quite a kick-ass experience (pardon my French)…I have been buoyed by it for the past few days. It is in those things that we find our courage and determination… He does feel better, and he is now being his usual self…micromanaging his momma to the nth degree and all. 😀

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