Today is Thursday. 2 days since Abbey's migraine. Yesterday she complained of a headache, and I picked her up from day care early. It wasn't very bad, I didn't even give her ibuprofen. I chalked it up to the heat and just being tired.
That night after the girls went to bed we discussed the possibility that she had allergies, and we agreed we'd call Dr. Lockard and check in with her.
This morning, she wakes up and asks for chocolate milk. She doesn't complain of a headache. She doesn't complain about going to school. We get dressed and walk out the door in record time. We are pulling out of the driveway at 6:46.
By 9:30 I've gotten my first phone call from the day care about her headache. She says she has a headache, but isn't asking to go home. I decide to stop by and talk to her and see what she seems like to me.
I get there and find her curled up on a chair in the corner covered with her blanket, half dozing. She's been like this for the better part of the day apparently. I carry her out to the car. I've already called and made an appointment with the Dr for 2pm. I really need to be at work, and be with her. I call my sister-in-law and make arrangements for Abbey to hang with her while I work the lunch rush, and then get her for her appointmen.
I pick Abbey up from the farm about 1:40, and she's starting to spike a fever. I can tell it's hurting more now than when I left. By the time we get to town, she's curled into a ball and whimpering. Now she feels like she's on fire. This reminds me that one of the first body functions Izzy lost was the ability to control her body temperature.
Nurse Lynn calls us back and Abbey is pink in the cheeks and just wants to be held and won't open her eyes. Her temp is 102.1.
Dr. Lockard comes in and checks her over. Thoroughly. She tells me that she has spoken with Dr. Tarantino, our hematologist, and they have their communication plan in place for any treatment Abbey would need in case of trauma or otherwise.
Dr. Lockard tells me that she feels this is some kind of infection. She drums her fingers on her laptop and says, "However, I think given the situation, and the history we need to do a head ct." I am immediately panicked and relieved.
I go right over, and we don't even get to the admitting desk with the paper when we are met at the door and taken right back. This worries me quite a bit. I'm used to waiting forever to be called back. We sit in the radiology waiting room and it hits me. I am holding my beautiful girl who feels like she is on fire, keeps falling asleep, and is in a tremendous amount of pain, waiting to have a test done that may tell us that she has a brain bleed. Suddenly, someone must have sucked all the oxygen out of the room. I can't breathe. I ask all my friends to pray for her, because I can't do anything else.
We get called back and the technician is reading her brain questionnaire. She asks us about the Factor X, and Izzy. I don't want Abbey to put 2 and 2 together and get worried, so I keep my voice low.
We get to the room, and it's the same room. The room where Izzy had her brain ct. Right before she was sent to St. Francis. They put the same vest on me. They put Abbey on the table and explain to her that she'll have to be very still. She's holding her blanket and sucking her fingers. I smile and tell her that all their going to do is take pictures of her brain to make sure that it's still working. She smiles her little shy smile and sucks away on her fingers.
I start making plans in my head. Packing bags to head to Peoria. Have Julia and Julie watch the dogs. Maddy can come with us and stay with our friends over there. I'm not doing this again with all my girls close by. Call Julie and make sure work is covered tomorrow. This can't happen again. Not again. Why didn't I bring her in Tuesday. Why did I let this go. If it's a brain bleed, it's my fault. I did this. I'll never forgive myself. I can't go through it a second time. Maddy can't be an only child. I can't survive losing another child. I cannot do it.
I hold on to her feet the whole time. She closes her eyes. I can't look at her face. She'll see my panic if she looks at me. It seems like forever til the scan is done. There were 2 women in the room, now there are 4. Is this standard? Did word get around the hospital? Did everyone come to look at the horrific results. The woman who had been doing the talking tells me that they have been instructed to read the reports immediately and call Dr. Lockard. They tell me I will hear from her shortly. I don't know if this is good or bad.
I call Dan. I have talked to him several times. I know that he is staying focused on work so he doesn't run straight from there to wherever we are. He asks for the hundredth time if I need him. I tell him that she's sleeping, again, and that we are headed for home so she can rest. I tell him I will call him immediately with the results. Neither one of us is falling apart because the other one needs us to hold it together. We're propping each other up even though neither of us is very sturdy.
I pick up Maddy and as I get out the car at the day care, Dr. Lockards office calls. I can't breathe or speak. Lynne says, the ct is normal. I can breathe. I say,"Oh, thank you. I can breathe again." Lynne says, "I know, I can too." I know she means it, and that makes me feel good. I realize that it's okay. Abbey is okay. It's just a migraine. She's not dying. Her brain isn't dying. It isn't bleeding. We're okay.
That night after the girls went to bed we discussed the possibility that she had allergies, and we agreed we'd call Dr. Lockard and check in with her.
This morning, she wakes up and asks for chocolate milk. She doesn't complain of a headache. She doesn't complain about going to school. We get dressed and walk out the door in record time. We are pulling out of the driveway at 6:46.
By 9:30 I've gotten my first phone call from the day care about her headache. She says she has a headache, but isn't asking to go home. I decide to stop by and talk to her and see what she seems like to me.
I get there and find her curled up on a chair in the corner covered with her blanket, half dozing. She's been like this for the better part of the day apparently. I carry her out to the car. I've already called and made an appointment with the Dr for 2pm. I really need to be at work, and be with her. I call my sister-in-law and make arrangements for Abbey to hang with her while I work the lunch rush, and then get her for her appointmen.
I pick Abbey up from the farm about 1:40, and she's starting to spike a fever. I can tell it's hurting more now than when I left. By the time we get to town, she's curled into a ball and whimpering. Now she feels like she's on fire. This reminds me that one of the first body functions Izzy lost was the ability to control her body temperature.
Nurse Lynn calls us back and Abbey is pink in the cheeks and just wants to be held and won't open her eyes. Her temp is 102.1.
Dr. Lockard comes in and checks her over. Thoroughly. She tells me that she has spoken with Dr. Tarantino, our hematologist, and they have their communication plan in place for any treatment Abbey would need in case of trauma or otherwise.
Dr. Lockard tells me that she feels this is some kind of infection. She drums her fingers on her laptop and says, "However, I think given the situation, and the history we need to do a head ct." I am immediately panicked and relieved.
I go right over, and we don't even get to the admitting desk with the paper when we are met at the door and taken right back. This worries me quite a bit. I'm used to waiting forever to be called back. We sit in the radiology waiting room and it hits me. I am holding my beautiful girl who feels like she is on fire, keeps falling asleep, and is in a tremendous amount of pain, waiting to have a test done that may tell us that she has a brain bleed. Suddenly, someone must have sucked all the oxygen out of the room. I can't breathe. I ask all my friends to pray for her, because I can't do anything else.
We get called back and the technician is reading her brain questionnaire. She asks us about the Factor X, and Izzy. I don't want Abbey to put 2 and 2 together and get worried, so I keep my voice low.
We get to the room, and it's the same room. The room where Izzy had her brain ct. Right before she was sent to St. Francis. They put the same vest on me. They put Abbey on the table and explain to her that she'll have to be very still. She's holding her blanket and sucking her fingers. I smile and tell her that all their going to do is take pictures of her brain to make sure that it's still working. She smiles her little shy smile and sucks away on her fingers.
I start making plans in my head. Packing bags to head to Peoria. Have Julia and Julie watch the dogs. Maddy can come with us and stay with our friends over there. I'm not doing this again with all my girls close by. Call Julie and make sure work is covered tomorrow. This can't happen again. Not again. Why didn't I bring her in Tuesday. Why did I let this go. If it's a brain bleed, it's my fault. I did this. I'll never forgive myself. I can't go through it a second time. Maddy can't be an only child. I can't survive losing another child. I cannot do it.
I hold on to her feet the whole time. She closes her eyes. I can't look at her face. She'll see my panic if she looks at me. It seems like forever til the scan is done. There were 2 women in the room, now there are 4. Is this standard? Did word get around the hospital? Did everyone come to look at the horrific results. The woman who had been doing the talking tells me that they have been instructed to read the reports immediately and call Dr. Lockard. They tell me I will hear from her shortly. I don't know if this is good or bad.
I call Dan. I have talked to him several times. I know that he is staying focused on work so he doesn't run straight from there to wherever we are. He asks for the hundredth time if I need him. I tell him that she's sleeping, again, and that we are headed for home so she can rest. I tell him I will call him immediately with the results. Neither one of us is falling apart because the other one needs us to hold it together. We're propping each other up even though neither of us is very sturdy.
I pick up Maddy and as I get out the car at the day care, Dr. Lockards office calls. I can't breathe or speak. Lynne says, the ct is normal. I can breathe. I say,"Oh, thank you. I can breathe again." Lynne says, "I know, I can too." I know she means it, and that makes me feel good. I realize that it's okay. Abbey is okay. It's just a migraine. She's not dying. Her brain isn't dying. It isn't bleeding. We're okay.
I know that you felt a "tidal wave" of relieve knowing things were okay, you are amazing and being over cautious is never an issue, a mother knows when something is not right, thats why they call it mothers intuition. You are a great mom and Abbey & Maddie are very lucky to have you as is Isabelle
ReplyDeleteYou are amazing. Oh my gosh, to handle all of that yourself is unnecessary. You could have made one call and you would have had a crew there to give you strength. I know you have all of our numbers. Don't hesitate to call day or night.
ReplyDeleteErica
I'm so glad she is ok. Not that migraines are fun and wonderful, but they are manageable. And I'm so glad that you thought of us yesterday. :) She had some fun despite not feeling well and she sorta snuggled with me, which made my heart melt.
ReplyDeleteCount me in as part of the crew Erica mentioned.
I finished reading this, and as I let out my breath, I realized I'd been holding it the whole time I read the post. And I already knew the results. I think I said everything last night on the phone, but just so you can see it in writing: Any time, any place. I'm there for you. Love you guys.
ReplyDelete