Emergencies

I’ve got the kids all squared away and I’m headed to a yoga class that I’ve been looking forward to for 3 weeks now. I’m with a friend who I cherish, but rarely get to see and between her 3 littles and my 3 kidlets, we schedule far more coffee dates than we actually make it to. Feeling a little triumphant, we’re walking down the hall of the YMCA and she asks how I’m doing. “Good!” I say, a little incredulous. 

“Wow! Remind me what that’s like,” she says. 

“Seriously,” I say, “Things seem to be going really well right now. I’ll probably jinx it by saying that…” 

Cue my phone. 

Seriously. 

Not even joking. Not embellishing. Not exaggerating. 

The caller ID says it’s the clinic where Keira is at therapy. I sigh and lean against the wall. “This is Bekah.” Her therapist greets me and proceeds to tell me that Keira is ok, but that her hands have suddenly grown hot, red, and swollen. She doesn’t know what to make of it and is not sure what to do. 

The only thing in my head is a big question mark as well. Keira has never had any swelling that I can remember, no allergic reactions. The therapist agrees to text me a picture and I hang up the phone. 

Looking at my friend apologetically, I effuse, “Damn it!” 

“Not the choice of words I would have gone with,” she said. 

The photos come through and, sure enough, Keira’s knuckles appear to be disappearing. I agree to come and get her and, defeated, hang up the phone again. “Well, now you’ve witnessed it directly and know I’m not making excuses to not see you,” I tell my friend. 

“Even if you were,” she said, “I’d still want to hang out.” She walks me to back to the building’s entrance and as she’s trying to give me the 30 second update on her life, my adrenaline spikes and I’m not able to attend anymore. 

Swollen hands? Who do I even call? ER? Pediatrician? Could it be a cardiac problem? What in the world? In the car, on my way to the clinic, I call the pediatrician. I call Keira’s PT who’s helped us with the Baclofen pump. I call my parents. I call Jeff. I call the physiatrist in Twin Falls. When I get to the clinic, K is still happy, but, sure enough, her hands are even puffier than in the picture. They are also hot. 

My parents arrive just after me and we go together to the ER downtown. We don’t mess around with the closest ER anymore. Going downtown to the childrens’ hospital ensures that they have access to all of her medical records, we are a stone’s throw from most of her specialists, and it’s our best chance to get an ER doc who is not overwhelmed at the sight of Keira. 

Checked in at the ER, I make conversation with the nurse. He worked with us last time, a couple of months back when we brought Keira in because she was having trouble breathing after ingesting too much water during her swimming class. After a visit from a nurse, a nurse assistant, a doctor, 3 residents, and a social worker, Keira’s swelling has begun to subside. They are ready to send her home unless I insist on having a UA and some blood work done. 

I’ve gotten some return phone calls. “No, this is not a reaction that is likely to be because of the pump.” “The flu has been weird this year. Make sure they test her for influenza A.” The most helpful feedback comes from the PT. We’ve been in touch and she knows that Keira has had a bit of congestion, a little cold over the past couple weeks. “I’ve seen this in my other practice,” she informs me. “Kids like Keira, who have limited mobility, sometimes struggle to flush a virus out of their system completely. You’ll see puffiness come and go, particularly in the upper body, as they struggle to eliminate the virus.” She advised me that in the absence of increased swelling or fever, I might be able to help Keira move the virus with massage, pressure points, and the use of her vibrating chest vest. Encouraged with this advice and the negative influenza swab, we take Keira home.  

On the car ride home, I feel exhausted. “My adrenal glands are tired,” I texted my husband. I realize that the emotional highs and lows of the last 2 hours are not what most people deal with in a typical day. Is my day shot, or can I get back on the wagon? To resume my day as planned means going grocery shopping on my way back home and making fondue for Jeff and the kids for dinner to celebrate Valentines day. I would really like to bag it all and spend the rest of the day in bed, but after indulging myself with a BigMac Jr. and an apple pie, I pull into Winco for my shopping.

All is well, but my brain needs to process through it. Was it worthwhile to take Keira to the ER or was it a waste of time? Does the ER think we’re ridiculous for rushing her in like that? I remember that for the first 2 years of her life, things went from bad to worse SO FAST and that they don’t necessarily do that anymore. But they could. They certainly could. She tends to stay in pretty good spirits until she feels REALLY bad. Should I have pushed for the UA and the bloodwork? They would have done it if I had asked. Did I have good reason to? What if we missed something? They don’t know what to do with her. I hate being the pushy mom. So often I’ve been right, though. Up until the influenza swab, all they did was check her vitals. More or less, we could have checked her temp, her respirations, her pulse, and her oxygen at home.

I remember walking into Keira’s bedroom this morning after she’d left for therapy. It was quiet and cold and so empty feeling. At the time, I thought, “At some point, when she’s gone, it could be really hard for me to walk into this room. At some point, she won’t live here anymore. I hope she comes back home today….how strange are these thoughts? Do most people consider the death of their children so frequently?” I realize that that consideration in her bedroom this morning could have been a foreboding premonition. But, no. She’ll be there when I get back with the groceries. I’m so glad today wasn’t the last day.