Respiratory Distress

I got the call this afternoon that the fever was back. 101.7.

Dammit.

Back on the phone with the doctor. “You know, we typically like to see them if the fever remains for over 72 hours,” the advice nurse informed me. I reminded her that we’d just been there and was now calling back per medical instruction.

Friday at the end of the day there aren’t a lot of appointments left. I played the trump card. “He’s an ex-27 weeker,” I shared. “Chronic Lung Disease diagnosis.”

She asked if we could make the last appointment – 15 minutes out. I work 20 minutes from home. No problem! I burst out of the building like a bat out of hell.

Grandma Nancy met me at the hospital. Destroy’s little cheeks were flushed a fierce fire red. His head was heavy against her shoulder. There was no room left for doubt. His sad little eyes were very clear. “Mommy, I do not feel good. At. All.”

Even in his withering state, he managed to charm the medical assistant. As she strapped the pulseox monitor to his extended index finger, he looked her square in the eye and stated, “Done? All done.” Poor guy.

And then he failed his saturation test.

Destroy skeptically eyed the doctor’s stethoscope. And 30 seconds later, Dr. Purdy shared Destroy’s rapid retractions were signs of the little man’s respiratory distress. Pneumonia.

Imaging and Radiology was called for x-rays. Chest scans were ordered. Stat. Can you move him to the front of the line? Go now. The office will be closed when you come back. Just knock on the door. I’ll wait.

It’s easy to remain cool, calm and collected until the doctor starts moving quickly – ordering urgent tests and looking concerned. RUN PANICKING FROM THE ROOM!

We had a little tour of the hospital looking for the radiology lab. (You’d think I’d know where this is, given my intimate familiarity with this particular medical establishment. You would be wrong.)

When we finally returned to the pediatric clinic, the doctor was waiting for us in the lobby. DANGER WILL ROBINSON! DANGER!

“Well. It’s bacterial pneumonia. This is the kind that concerns us.” (Note: Doctors overtly noting concern. Bad. Very. Very. Bad.)

At this point one of the nurses asked if I was feeling okay, since I appeared to be breaking out in hives. I assured her it was simply the heat of running around the facility with a 27-pound ex 27-weeker with a body temp of 102 clinging to my body like a desperate monkey. As opposed to the far more likely explanation that I am obviously allergic to being contained “overnight for observation.”

“But the good news is, there is just a little bit of the infection in this right quadrant of the lung.”

“Yay?” I replied.

“Cracker?” Destroy inquired in agreement.

“He’s going to be ok,” Dr. Purdy reassured me with a smile.

So it was back to the exam room to prepare for a shot of extreme antibiotic. (What did I tell you germs?) Dr. Purdy went over the x-rays with me, while the nurse prepared what looked more like a tranquilizer gun than an injection needle. Destroy happily munched away on his crackers.

“So, I’m going to need you to hold him pretty tight,” the nurse began as she approached us with the injectable lance. “This one hurts a lot.”

Because *that* is what every mother wants to hear.

“And it takes a bit to administer because it’s so thick. Ready?”

No.

And then Destroy began howling from the pain and injustice being thrust upon his little person. (DIE GERMS, DIE! DIE! DIE!) “Mommmeeee!!! Nooooo!!!”

We were instructed to wait 20 minutes to make sure there were no unsavory adverse reactions. I tried to convince the little man to walk up and down the hallway so the medication would move beyond his muscles.

He wasn’t having it.

“Up? Up? Up?” he cried before ultimately collapsing into a hysterical heap on the carpet.

As we closed down business hours in the hospital, Destroy fell sound asleep against my chest. He did have a reaction to the shot, but it was deemed “acceptable” and we were hustled over to the pharmacy for mass quantities of Amoxicillin.

At this point I mentioned Search also has fever of 100.

Thankfully we’re currently all tucked into our own beds – comfy and cozy. But Search and Destroy both have a date back in the weekend clinic bright and early tomorrow morning.