I don't even feel stupid for posting this
becuase it's definitely the most captivating Bubla medical drama yet. (Do you like my advertising?) Hint: he could have died. (Do you like my intro?)
Let's start with the good news. Bubla was weighed at the hospital on Wednesday, and he's gained almost two pounds in two weeks! Mmm, chemicals... He's almost not underweight now. The last time he really gained weight (without losing it again or the like) was something like April or May. Yesterday morning, he finally had his ophthalmology appointment. At the previous one, in Prague, they had tortured him and then told me there's nothing they can do for him anyway. The American doctor - a slight contrast - didn't hurt Bubla at all, did a test and said he needs surgery under general anesthesia. It's actually a simple procedure, but the anesthesia is a bit questionable for a guy like Bubla, perhaps especially after what happened next.
Bubla had been an angel. The appointment was long and we stuck around to take care of some other business (no more $970 GI bill!). He didn't get even slightly cranky. We got home, he ate a bit and then took a short nap. It was very warm out, so we called P and agreed to meet at the playground. I put Bubla on my back and talked at him as we headed for the park. About two blocks away, I spotted P and J. P later said that she doesn't remember Bubla saying hi to J, much less going crazy with joy like he usually does. Assuming, I suppose, that the kids were silently communing on our backs as P and I walked side by side, I led the way to Bubla's favorite slide. As we unwrapped our kids, I thought it was a little strange that Bubla wasn't touching down on the ground behind me, but I wasn't concerned (no, wait, my image as a parent is about to get MUCH worse) and gently released him onto the wooden slide stairs. The following part is hard to swallow...but since his head had rolled to the side, I couldn't see Bubla's face.
I thought he was trying to be funny. In retrospect, I can't figure out why a two-year-old would have chosen "playing dead" as a way to amuse himself or to get attention, but then again it's probably a more plausible explanation, generally speaking, than what was actually going on. So, I did what any responsible mother would have done. I laughed, made some comment about how cute my son was being, and took my cell phone camera (I can do that now) out of the bag that also includes Bubla's diapers and rectal diazepam.
What better thing to do for your unconscious toddler than take a picture of him?
I put the phone away and, surprise surprise, he still wasn't moving. When I finally saw his face I realized that he'd turned an unnatural color and his lips were completely blue. I recognized the seizure zombie look, but he wasn't shaking and all I could focus on is that he wasn't breathing, either. I then continued to do everything wrong. First, I held him up and briefly tried to "wake him" - as if I'd never seen a seizure before. Then I lay him on the mulch, started loosening his clothes, appealed to his completely alert adult mind to please breathe, noticed the big purple vein that was bulging out of his throat and tried to remember the protocol for mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. Meanwhile, P had asked what she should do. I told her to call 911. I didn't know she's been repeatedly CPR-certified, and I was about to try something that undoubtedly would have borne very little resemblance to what Ignac and I learned in CPR class, but luckily she soon handed me the phone and took charge. I saw a breath go in. There were also some signs of him trying to gasp for air, though with little success. It was only once all this was underway that he actually started convulsing.
I begged the dispatcher to send someone over, not realizing that she'd done that as soon as I had figured out and conveyed our location. The police made an appearance very soon after I finished explaining the situation. By the time the ambulance arrived less than a minute later, a small juvenile crowd had somehow materialized ex nihilo and Bubla was post-ictal, breathing on his own. The moment the paramedics told me I could pick him up was even more powerful than the first time I ever held him -- I felt like he was given to me all over again, only this time there could have been a very different outcome. It didn't occur to me until much later that he could have been brain-damaged from the lack of oxygen. We'll never know exactly how long he went without breathing (must have been a good few minutes, though), but he seems completely fine now.
The episode of visible convulsions was much shorter than the big one in August, although the question remains as to when he actually began seizing. The wonderful news is that this time he'd almost certainly had a sharp spike in temperature just prior, suggesting a febrile seizure. The ER doctor said, however, that this course of things was still atypical for a febrile seizure, so the plan for getting to the bottom of this has actually been stepped up. No matter what the origin of these seizures turns out to be, the party-pooping fact is that no one had expected him to have a life-threatening emergency in which -- for a period of time that I never want repeated -- it wasn't at all clear when, how or if he'd start breathing again. So we'll be making a few changes. (Absolutely no sleeping without the breathing monitor, EVER; the stroller, which, thank God, is reversible, will be turned so that Bubla faces whoever's pushing it; I won't carry him on my back unless I can interact with him the whole time; WE WILL BOTH TAKE A CPR/FIRST AID COURSE AGAIN ASAFP...)
Incidentally, much of the information I learned in the infant&child emergency response session (April 2005) slowly returned to me over a period of several hours, alternating with mental images of my son fighting for his life and, I'll venture to say, coming into my head a bit on the late side. So I can't help making this public service announcement to anyone who may ever read this: learn at least basic CPR (this includes the fun mouth-to-mouth part), know the differences between infants, children and adults and keep practicing - because real emergencies are a bitch.
P.S. During the ambulance ride, I felt a twinge of bitterness over Bubla having to go to the hospital for the third time in two days. It would have occurred to me on arrival, as it always does when we walk into a hospital, that I have everything to be grateful for because my son is alive and well, but this time things were put in perspective sooner than usual. One of the paramedics told me that his twin sons were also preemies...and that one of them has Down syndrome. Let me tell you, they spend a lot more time in that hospital than we do. And the father is happy because his baby boy is doing great. After yesterday, I never want to catch myself being dissatisfied with Bubla's health again.
Let's start with the good news. Bubla was weighed at the hospital on Wednesday, and he's gained almost two pounds in two weeks! Mmm, chemicals... He's almost not underweight now. The last time he really gained weight (without losing it again or the like) was something like April or May. Yesterday morning, he finally had his ophthalmology appointment. At the previous one, in Prague, they had tortured him and then told me there's nothing they can do for him anyway. The American doctor - a slight contrast - didn't hurt Bubla at all, did a test and said he needs surgery under general anesthesia. It's actually a simple procedure, but the anesthesia is a bit questionable for a guy like Bubla, perhaps especially after what happened next.
Bubla had been an angel. The appointment was long and we stuck around to take care of some other business (no more $970 GI bill!). He didn't get even slightly cranky. We got home, he ate a bit and then took a short nap. It was very warm out, so we called P and agreed to meet at the playground. I put Bubla on my back and talked at him as we headed for the park. About two blocks away, I spotted P and J. P later said that she doesn't remember Bubla saying hi to J, much less going crazy with joy like he usually does. Assuming, I suppose, that the kids were silently communing on our backs as P and I walked side by side, I led the way to Bubla's favorite slide. As we unwrapped our kids, I thought it was a little strange that Bubla wasn't touching down on the ground behind me, but I wasn't concerned (no, wait, my image as a parent is about to get MUCH worse) and gently released him onto the wooden slide stairs. The following part is hard to swallow...but since his head had rolled to the side, I couldn't see Bubla's face.
I thought he was trying to be funny. In retrospect, I can't figure out why a two-year-old would have chosen "playing dead" as a way to amuse himself or to get attention, but then again it's probably a more plausible explanation, generally speaking, than what was actually going on. So, I did what any responsible mother would have done. I laughed, made some comment about how cute my son was being, and took my cell phone camera (I can do that now) out of the bag that also includes Bubla's diapers and rectal diazepam.
What better thing to do for your unconscious toddler than take a picture of him?
I put the phone away and, surprise surprise, he still wasn't moving. When I finally saw his face I realized that he'd turned an unnatural color and his lips were completely blue. I recognized the seizure zombie look, but he wasn't shaking and all I could focus on is that he wasn't breathing, either. I then continued to do everything wrong. First, I held him up and briefly tried to "wake him" - as if I'd never seen a seizure before. Then I lay him on the mulch, started loosening his clothes, appealed to his completely alert adult mind to please breathe, noticed the big purple vein that was bulging out of his throat and tried to remember the protocol for mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. Meanwhile, P had asked what she should do. I told her to call 911. I didn't know she's been repeatedly CPR-certified, and I was about to try something that undoubtedly would have borne very little resemblance to what Ignac and I learned in CPR class, but luckily she soon handed me the phone and took charge. I saw a breath go in. There were also some signs of him trying to gasp for air, though with little success. It was only once all this was underway that he actually started convulsing.
I begged the dispatcher to send someone over, not realizing that she'd done that as soon as I had figured out and conveyed our location. The police made an appearance very soon after I finished explaining the situation. By the time the ambulance arrived less than a minute later, a small juvenile crowd had somehow materialized ex nihilo and Bubla was post-ictal, breathing on his own. The moment the paramedics told me I could pick him up was even more powerful than the first time I ever held him -- I felt like he was given to me all over again, only this time there could have been a very different outcome. It didn't occur to me until much later that he could have been brain-damaged from the lack of oxygen. We'll never know exactly how long he went without breathing (must have been a good few minutes, though), but he seems completely fine now.
The episode of visible convulsions was much shorter than the big one in August, although the question remains as to when he actually began seizing. The wonderful news is that this time he'd almost certainly had a sharp spike in temperature just prior, suggesting a febrile seizure. The ER doctor said, however, that this course of things was still atypical for a febrile seizure, so the plan for getting to the bottom of this has actually been stepped up. No matter what the origin of these seizures turns out to be, the party-pooping fact is that no one had expected him to have a life-threatening emergency in which -- for a period of time that I never want repeated -- it wasn't at all clear when, how or if he'd start breathing again. So we'll be making a few changes. (Absolutely no sleeping without the breathing monitor, EVER; the stroller, which, thank God, is reversible, will be turned so that Bubla faces whoever's pushing it; I won't carry him on my back unless I can interact with him the whole time; WE WILL BOTH TAKE A CPR/FIRST AID COURSE AGAIN ASAFP...)
Incidentally, much of the information I learned in the infant&child emergency response session (April 2005) slowly returned to me over a period of several hours, alternating with mental images of my son fighting for his life and, I'll venture to say, coming into my head a bit on the late side. So I can't help making this public service announcement to anyone who may ever read this: learn at least basic CPR (this includes the fun mouth-to-mouth part), know the differences between infants, children and adults and keep practicing - because real emergencies are a bitch.
P.S. During the ambulance ride, I felt a twinge of bitterness over Bubla having to go to the hospital for the third time in two days. It would have occurred to me on arrival, as it always does when we walk into a hospital, that I have everything to be grateful for because my son is alive and well, but this time things were put in perspective sooner than usual. One of the paramedics told me that his twin sons were also preemies...and that one of them has Down syndrome. Let me tell you, they spend a lot more time in that hospital than we do. And the father is happy because his baby boy is doing great. After yesterday, I never want to catch myself being dissatisfied with Bubla's health again.