Countin' Chickens

Countin' chickens. Calling a shut out. Tempting fate. Call it what you will, I did it. I boldly typed, for everyone to see "Usually means the big things are quiet." What was I thinking! Ben is spending his third night in the hospital tonight. All seemed OK on Thursday morning so off too school went Ben. At 10:30 he started crying about his tummy hurting. Quickly, he was fine. At 1:30 he did it again and this time his parapro suggested he go with her to the office to call mom. And he agreed. And he agreed to lie down in the office. And he fell asleep. Now at this point I knew something was wrong. He would never normally agree to any of those things. So while my mom was on her way to pick him up, I was on the phone to the doctor who suggested that if his tummy was making him cry we needed to go to emergency. Emergency? For a tummy ache? OK. Off Ben, Kiera and I went to emergency (where he weighed in at 36.4 lbs) and there we found that the suspected constipation (Chuckle, chuckle, here’s your suppository, have a nice evening.) was in fact, pneumonia, a grossly dilated stomach and a hiatal hernia. And by the way, we’re admitting you and surgery consult is on their way down. Waaa? It’s no wonder the little guy was complaining. The bigger wonder was that he wasn't complaining more! The boys’ stomach was as big as his head. I didn't really think they were serious until I saw the films and yes, his stomach was as big as his head. It was literally bigger than his lungS. Plural. What “we” think happened is that when Ben was vomiting on Tuesday part of his fundo wrap and part of his stomach pushed through that pesky little opening in his diaphragm. Due to the pressure and irritation of vomiting the wrap got pissy and possibly swelled, trapping the bit of stomach up there with it, in turn making the opening out of Ben’s stomach far to tight to release any air. He then retched more and gulped more air that couldn't get out which made him retch and gulp more air that (you guessed it) couldn't get out and we end up with a bit of stomach blown up like a balloon above the diaphragm, a stuck wrap and a huge belly. The first step was to rehydrate our little man by using those ugly two letters “IV”. Then they had to shrink the belly which involved a mighty jaunt through hell otherwise known as inserting a NG tube into the nose of a conscious and PISSED child. Then it was, wait and see if______. The ______ being what they wanted to see next to prove he was on the mend. And ______ was never what happened. They finally pulled the NG tube about 7 tonight so the latest films seemed to enforce the idea that this is not a blockage issue. It looks like if we can get him to hydrate off of his IV and eat and poop (tall order if you ask me) then we may be able to go home tomorrow. But that’s what they said on Thursday. Did I mention that I came home tonight (Dave is taking the late shift, he sleeps through anything) to a dog vigorously knocking at deaths door? Vomit everywhere and death rattle breathing? Well, I aced my mid-term : /