Tate, looking pretty miserable.
It's Friday morning and we're still at the hospital. Well, okay, I'm home. Doing laundry, paying bills, and loving up the other boys. Gramma Grasshopper is with Tate so I can have a little break.
The appendectomy went fine, but everything was a mess. It had ruptured and they had quite a job cleaning him out. He's improved a bit, but continued to run a temp and have abdominal pain. Plus, not much in the way of what Pooh would call a rumbly tumbly, and the nurses call "bowel tones'. Basically, his intestines have shut down, in protest. He hasn't had anything but sips of liquid in a WEEK. And, you can imagine, not much in the way of output either.
He perks up a sometimes and is enjoying the chance to play with the Nintendo unit they have in Peds, and watches movies.
The reason we're still there is... he's not getting better. Well, that seems obvious. I must be tired. He's improving, but not like we'd all hoped. Because he's still been running a temp and having abdominal pain they did a CT scan on Wednesday which revealed several abscesses and then did a "procedure" (we're not calling it "surgery") yesterday to drain them.
The good news is, they seemed to be healing on their own. But the bad news is, he still feels rotten. And he's missing soccer. And there's no way we're leaving in two days for our week-long camping trip.
We're hoping and praying that getting rid of more of the infection will help his body fight more effectively. We're really thankful to live where we have access to great medical care. Praise God for doctors, nurses, hospitals, and really good drugs.
And he's been enjoying visitors, too :0) His brothers come in every day, and his cousins came up from Issaquah on Monday.
My folks are helping out tremendously and Kerry is holding down the fort at home, but it's hard on the other boys too - especially Gunnar. He told Gramma, "We're just meant to be three boys at home." He really wants me to come home during the night, but is very mature and gracious about understanding that Tate needs me more, right now.
Seems like every time I turn around at the hospital I run into somebody I know! Two of the nurses that helped Tate in the recovery room yesterday were friends from various churches. The Peds nurses are wonderful - very compassionate and thoughtful.
But I am really tired of being in the hospital, and Tate even more so. There have been some funny moments, though...
I never realized how much Tate talks in his sleep.
I had no idea that those nasty perfume samples in magazines would last for NINE YEARS. Just check out the reading material in the East Tower waiting room, if you doubt me.
And I was surprised - though I probably shouldn't have been - to find out that the crocodile hunter shows that Kerry watched endlessly when I was in labor with Gunnar eight years ago are still on.
And, in just in case I was sad about not camping... I'm having a camping experience all week. The guest bed is directly under the air vent in Tate's room. It blows a cool breeze down on me 24/7. And I do mean a breeze - enough to blow the balloons around and blow my hair into my eyes.
Tate still has a sense of humor. After receiving a suppository he spent some time on the throne. When he came out he announced, "Well, I laid two little eggs."
When Aunt Tami asked how he was feeling, he said, "My stomach is trying to kill me. But I'm not going to let it win."
This is one of those times I'd give anything for a "magic mommy wand" that I could wave and make everything all better. But in the meantime, I keep giving him kisses and sips of water, holding the "pee jug", walking laps around the Peds ward with him, and watching crocodile hunters.
Thanks for your prayers,