Guys Night Out

For context, this is a picture of Lyndon before he and I had our guys night out last week while mommy was at an Enrichment meeting at church learning how to save money.

Tuesday night of last week, right before Karen and I went to bed, Lyndon started throwing up. At first, we weren't too concerned since sometimes he'll throw up after drinking too much straight apple juice. But when he continued to toss his cookies, or popcorn as the case may be, we got concerned. I was up with him until 1:40 in the morning before his stomach finally calmed down and we were both able to get a little shut eye. He threw up again during the course of the night and again when he woke up that morning, but then he was vomit-free until later that afternoon. We knew he wasn't getting any better, however, as he was extremely lethargic all morning long.

When I came home on my lunch break Wednesday afternoon, the upchucking episodes began anew. Apparently, he threw up several more times before I came home from work at 5:30 and was unable to hold down even the smallest amounts of water or pedialyte.

Out of an abundance of caution I took him to the children's emergency room at Covenant Hospital at 7:30 pm.

There was a sign posted at the sign-in sheet that said "The sickest patient will be seen first regardless of who arrived first." I contemplated putting an asterisk by Lyndon's name with a note that Lyndon was the sickest patient (just in case they couldn't tell by looking at him), but changed my mind when I saw a little boy come in with his knee split wide open who was unable to convince the staff that he was the sickest patient. I was left wondering what type of malady would qualify one as "the sickest patient" such that one would be moved to the front of the line. I also was left hoping that neither I nor any of my family members would ever have the dubious distinction of being the sickest patient because, apparently, that would be pretty awful.

We finally made it through the rigmarole of triage (but not before Lyndon made a contribution to the wastebasket in the lobby) and got to see a doctor. The doctor recommended Lyndon eat a popsicle or two because he wanted to see if Lyndon could hold it down. I was reminded that medicine is not always as complicated as it seems to be. I didn't have much hope that he would be able to run the guantlet that had been laid before him.

He ate most of a red popsicle; tried a purple one; didn't like it; ate most of another red popsicle; and was about to be sent home with a prescription of promethazine suppositories to suppress his nausea but, when I picked him up to leave, he proceeded to decorate my shirt with a large dose of bright, not-so-beautiful-red, regurgitated popsicle juice.

It was then that the doctor believed what I had told him at the beginning, i.e., that Lyndon hadn't been able to hold anything down since noon. Fearing dehydration and accompanying problems, the doctor had him hooked up to an I.V. and ran two boluses of 250 ccs each over the course of the next hour-and-a-half.

Before they hooked him up to the machine, I tried to explain to him that his body needed water; that his tummy wouldn't let him drink any because it was hurting; that getting water in his body would help him feel better; that the doctor (actually nurse, but nurses are doctors too as far as Lyndon is concerned) was going to put some water in his body through a tube hooked up to his hand; and that it was going to hurt for a little bit when they hooked up the tube.

I was so proud of the little guy! When the nurses came in to hook up the I.V., he let them do their thing while he observed them from the vantage point of his bed. When they inserted the catheter into his vein, I flinched but he didn't. He was incredibly tough. I would have cried like a baby before passing out to both pass the time and remove myself from the unpleasantries of the situation.

While they ran the boluses, Lyndon caught a little nap, but I was too preoccupied with the flood of emotions and hypotheticals that were washing across my mind to saw any logs. Besides, the chair I was sitting in was not conducive to catching any z's.

Gratefully, Lyndon was able to hold down some diluted apple juice for forty-five minutes after the I.V., and we were sent home with a prescription for the syrup variety of the anti-nausea medicine I mentioned earlier. He hasn't thrown up since and is now completely recovered from his bout with gastroenteritis. Ungratefully, Karen and Charlotte are now fighting it. Luckily, they don't seem to have the bad case that Lyndon had.

If you're interested in reading about another family who had a bout with a stomach bug, check out the link to the Dalley's blog article "Vomit or Diarrhea, Take Your Pick." If you click on their comments, you can read some of the lessons we learned about cleaning up after a sick child. Mr. Dalley is a wordsmith by hobby, a medical student by trade, and he has a knack for storytelling. I think you'll enjoy his blog entry.