I contemplated the title to this entry for a couple of days. Somehow joking about your own death doesn’t pack a punch, but joking about your child dying does. Funny that. But he didn’t die. Not even close. And thankfully, for the most part, I knew that he wouldn’t at the time.

Aidan gave us a big scare this past Easter weekend. When he got his first cold I thought I couldn’t possibly cope with more than that. But we got through it, and I felt stronger for that. Then when he got another cold/flu thingy and he ended up on antibiotics a month later I went through the same cycle: thinking that I couldn’t possibly cope with anything more than this, but as we emerged out the other side, feeling quite chuffed that we did.

Well, after last weekend I should feel positively pumping. So here’s a chronology of events. Warning for the squeamish – mention of blood, vomit and poop included

Saturday
10:30 AM: Drop Aidan at his Ouma’s (Afrikaans for granny) so we can go and do our monthly groceries uninterrupted, and because Ouma likes having Aidan to herself for a bit, and because he likes it too. He’s a little fractious when we leave, but he’s having a bottle and needs a nap, and we’re confident that Hunny’s mom can handle him

11:00 AM: Hunny’s mom phones while we’re sitting in some pointless and frustrating traffic resulting from a local craft market that doesn’t have easy enough access to it’s parking. I can hear Aidan crying in the background. MIL says he won’t settle and he’s vomited up his whole bottle and his morning porridge too. We do a quick about turn and race back.

11:15 AM: I’ve never seen my child this inconsolably unhappy before. He’s calm for a few minutes, and looks exhausted. Then he writhes in agony and contorts his little body, crying his heart out. We pack up his things and head straight to Sunninghill Casualty.

11:45 AM: Aidan has slept in the car chair on the way over, and seems more peaceful as we sit in the waiting room. As we are called though, he vomits again.

12:45 PM: The casualty doctors have given him some Buscopan for the cramps, some anti-nausea stuff, and some Stopain. They think its colic. We’re not 100% convinced, but he’s calm and he’s not vomiting or cramping. We go home.

14:45 PM: Aidan has had some water and some formula, and a nice long nap. But then he wakes up crying. I try to comfort him. He vomits all over me. Alwyn phones casualty and they say bring him in again.

15:30 PM: The doctor examines Aidan again, and sends him for x-rays.

16:00 PM: The x–rays show much gas but no obstructions. After Aidan vomited up the last of his stomach contents he seems happier, but is still cramping intermittently. Doctor still thinks its colic, and that I gave him too many fluids, and that’s what triggered it off again. Then he does a poo nappy. It’s red. Very red. You can smell the blood. I call the nurse. I assure her he hasn’t been eating beetroot.

16:30 PM: After doing another red nappy, Aidan seems happier, but the casualty nurses aren’t. One says dysentery. The others agree. I’m horrified. Where could he have picked that up from? Don’t children in poverty stricken villages in third world countries die from that?

16:45 PM: The nurses descend on mass. Taking bloods from his right foot. Inserting a drip needle into his left foot because the vein in his left collapsed. They’ve spoken to the Pediatrician on standby, she’s booking him in. I’m worried but trying not to let it show as I hold my child down for people to stick needles into him. Hunny is trying hard not to hit the doctors that don’t seem concerned enough or sympathetic enough.

17:30 PM: We’re in an isolation ward because of the dysentery thing. When I ask the nurse how he might have contracted dysentery she tells me about the virtues of hand washing. Aidan is on a fluid drip, antibiotics are on their way. He hasn’t cramped or vomited since the two red nappies. He’s dead tired but still trying to be charming for the nurses.

18:30 PM: The antibiotics are in the drip only a few minutes before Aidan kicks the needle loose and screams in pain. The nurse disconnects the drip, says she’ll be back in a few minutes to re-insert the needle. Hunny has gone home to feed the dogs and return with supplies. I’m staying with Aidan through the night, they let one parent stay. They provide a bed. Well, that’s what they call it.

19:10 PM: The night shift nurse introduces herself, says they’ll be back in a few minutes to take Aidan to reinsert his drip. My mom and sister have arrived to offer moral support. I nearly break down when I see them, but manage to pull myself together.

19:30 PM: Hunny arrives back with MacDonald’s, asks the nurses when they’re planning on reinserting Aidan’s drip needle. They’re busy, they’ll be there just now

20:15 PM: Finally, they take us to the procedure room to reinsert the drip needle. Only one parent can stay. I can’t leave my child, so it’s me. They scour his chubby limbs for a spot. The two good ones (his feet) are ruined, so they have to try a hand. Somehow this seems much worse than a foot to me. She manages it first time though, no mean feet. I can’t see a vein there.

21:00 PM: Mom and sis have gone, it’s just Hunny, Aidan and I in our isolation ward. Aidan’s finally falling asleep when the standby paediatrician arrives. She gets off on the wrong foot. “What’s the problem? Persistent high fever?” I start to loose it. No, I say. He’s been vomiting. Then she starts off about “… the thing with rotavirus” I cut her off. No-one has said rotavirus, they’ve said dysentery. She does a quick recovery by grouping the two together, and I stumble some kind of excuse-apology about it being a long day and everyone asking the same questions again and again. She carries on speaking, to Hunny only. I put my head on the bed next to my child and listen. Why is everyone writing down his symptoms if no-one is reading them?

21:10 PM: Aidan’s first blood test results arrive while the pead is still there. She explains them to us. She’s actually okay, I just wish she’d read the file before she came in. He’s not dehydrated, and has negative counts for bacterial infections, so the antibiotics are probably a waste of time. She’ll give him one more dose tomorrow just in case. No food for Aidan tonight though, I’m wondering how I’ll get him to sleep on an empty tummy.

22:00 PM: The ‘bed’ is a fold out armchair thing that looks as uncomfortable as it feels. Hunny’s just left, and Aidan and I are settling down for the night.
Sunday
04:45 AM: Aidan is awake and chipper. Not another symptom since the two red nappies the day before. Nurses came and went throughout the night, checking his vitals. We both got some sleep, but Aidan more than me. His bed was more comfortable. I could feel the bruises forming on my hips if I stayed in the same position for more than half an hour.

06:00 AM: I can’t distract him anymore, the boy is HUNGRY. I give him 50 ml’s he gobbles it down and cries with betrayal. I give him another 50 ml’s. He’s still not impressed.

07:15 AM: Hunny arrives with coffee for me and yoghurt for Aidan. I leave Aidan under his dad’s watchful eye while I wash-up and apply some make-up, so that I don’t look like the sick one. We give him some yoghurt at 8, he loves it:

11:45 AM: Hunny’s folks come to visit. His mom is so concerned that he’ll relate the terrible experience to her. I assure her that he won’t remember, and if he does then my betrayal is more memorable: I held him down for people to stick him with needles. I have the memory of my mom doing the same during a particularly bad bout of gastro when I was about 5. I couldn’t believe it at the time, my mom holding me down for the nurse while she gave me an injection. We’ve come full circle.

14:00 PM: We’re still at the hospital, but it’s looking likely that we’ll go home today. The paed will visit us later.

14:30 PM: We’re clear to go! The last bloods and cultures came back. The paed explains then to us. They tell us nothing. Negative for all the common viruses they check. Negative for bacteria. Paed doesn’t think he’s contagious. It no longer appears to be dysentery. We don’t know what it is, but further testing is deemed unnecessary.

15:00 PM: We’re home. Aidan and I take a nice nap together. It feels so surreal.

Two days later my relief at having a healthy child back has given way to frustration at not knowing what caused this. If I don’t know what it was then I don’t know what I can do to prevent it from happening again. I’m pretty sure it wasn’t dysentery. He was missing the major defining symptom. He never had diarrhea. He had also righted himself within 5 hours of the start of the symptoms, before the antibiotics had been administered. All forms of dysentery seem to have an onset of days. I’ve googled his symptoms and come up with one plausible but incomplete theory. I know I’ll need to let it go, but I’m not ready to just yet.

But my son is okay. If it weren’t for the 3 prick marks you wouldn’t know it ever happened. We have learnt one thing from this though: trust our instincts. Neither of us was convinced about the colic theory. We should have pushed harder at the first casualty visit.

And I’m proud of us. We made it through this. Back to the title of this post, I confronted a major fear of mine. Since he was born I have been harboring a fear of taking Aidan to the emergency room. Because then they might admit him. And I didn’t know if or how I would cope with that. Now it has happened, and I coped, and it’s not so scary anymore.