No news is no news.
Jun. 29th, 2006 02:18 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
rivkaWhen we made our echocardiogram appointment, I distinctly remember asking the scheduler, "Will we need to make another appointment to see the doctor?"
"No," she said, consulting her computer screen. "It looks like they're going to take care of all of that at once."
It is therefore with a strong sense of outrage that I report that we won't hear about the echo results until some time tomorrow, when the doctor will call me. Michael will be a thousand miles away by then. All I can say at this point is that all three of us survived the procedure itself.
Alex was NPO (nothing by mouth) from 7:45 last night until 11 this morning. She could've had a little apple juice this morning if she'd woken up before 6:30, but instead she slept until almost 7. That worked well, because she's pretty used to playing for an hour or so before breakfast, and by the time an hour had passed we were ready to head off to the hospital.
I compulsively packed up a ton of gear to bring with us: toys, books, Alex's stuffed doggy, an extra outfit in case the sedative made her throw up, and an insulated case holding milk, water, and an ice pack. I felt a little foolish, but we turned out to need everything but the spare outfit.
Alex hasn't ever been afraid of doctors before, but this time she just seemed tense and spooked. I don't know if it was hunger catching up with her, or if our tension was communicating itself to her - because Michael and I were both pretty white-knuckled by that point. Whatever it was, she cried and clung when the nurse tried to take her vitals. This one was nowhere near as good as the nurse who did her EKG, and she needed to be. She wound up just skipping Alex's blood pressure entirely, and seemed kind of annoyed that she was crying so much.
A different nurse, Sara, took over from there, and fortunately this one was both skilled and kind. She grilled us about Alex's health and medical history and listened to her lungs. Then a doctor (not ours) came by and listened to her lungs as well. Apparently, at the slightest sound of a cold or respiratory problem we would've been sent home. But instead Sara explained the sedation protocol. Alex would get chloral hydrate by mouth, and it would taste pretty nasty. She might sleep for as much as two hours. She would probably get pretty fussy on her way down to sleep, and maybe when she woke up again as well.
What followed was the most unpleasant ten minutes I've had in... quite some time. I held Alex lying across my lap and clamped her head in place while Michael pinned her limbs and Sara squirted chloral hydrate into her mouth a little at a time. Alex wailed and fought. She was crying so hard she nearly choked. When it had all been given, she continued to scream unconsolably for another five minutes. Given that both Sara and the doctor had warned us that she would be upset on her way to sleep, it seemed plausible that she might scream for another twenty minutes, until the mickey finn kicked in.
But fortunately, we were able to distract her at that point with some story hour songs, and then some books. She wanted down, so we put her on the floor - but it was instantly clear that she was already starting to be affected. She walked like a man who's just downed a sixpack. So I sat on the floor with her and we played happily with nesting cups and lids. Soon she had to sit leaning against me for support, and then she got so wobbly that I no longer trusted her not to fall forward. I lifted her, and it was like picking up a newborn - she had no ability to support her own weight with her legs, and no ability to hold on and help me lift her. A few minutes later, as I sang lullabies, she was deep into a drugged sleep.
Sara came back for her, and we went to the echo suite. I laid Alex on a hospital bed and they hooked her up with electrodes, cables, a pulse oximeter, and a tiny blood pressure cuff. That was when I started to cry. Just the sight of my baby, alone on a big bed, lying so unnaturally still, all those cords leading away from her body... I knew that she was fine, and I knew that the echo wouldn't hurt her, but the image was still terribly hard to bear.
Michael and I sat a few feet away from the bed and held hands in the dark. The tech didn't narrate anything the way our prenatal ultrasound tech did, although she did reassure us that she was watching Alex's vitals and that everything was okay. We could see her heartbeat on the monitor. And that was how it went, for about half an hour. Then they unhooked her from the electrodes and we were allowed to touch her and hold her. She still had the blood pressure cuff and the pulse oximeter, and until she woke up Sara came by every fifteen minutes to check her vitals.
We went back to the exam room and held her, swaddled in sheets. She was much stiller than she is when she sleeps at home. I watched her pulse beat in her throat. Michael and I chatted about inconsequentials, and eventually he fell asleep too. An hour and a half after she'd gone to sleep, and almost two hours after she'd been medicated, she began to moan, stir, suck on the pacifier in her mouth.
"She's waking up," I told Sara on her next trip in for vital signs. "Michael, could you get the milk out?"
"Get her dressed first," Sara said. "I want to make sure she's really awake before you feed her, so she doesn't choke." So we slotted floppy little limbs into shirtsleeves and shorts. By the time we got to socks and shoes, Alex had perked up far enough to name them. I took this as a sign that she was awake enough to drink, and indeed, she lay groggily in my arms and sucked down eight ounces of frosty cold milk. We poured her into the stroller and brought her home.
She ate two scrambled eggs, a large handful of cheerios, half a slice of bread, and bits of Michael's and my lunches. She drank a lot of water. She was still quite floppy and off-balance - eventually we got tired of watching her fall over and sat her down in front of the TV. Ironically, right now she's napping, and has been for an hour. I hope that when she wakes up, she's got her coordination back.
"No," she said, consulting her computer screen. "It looks like they're going to take care of all of that at once."
It is therefore with a strong sense of outrage that I report that we won't hear about the echo results until some time tomorrow, when the doctor will call me. Michael will be a thousand miles away by then. All I can say at this point is that all three of us survived the procedure itself.
Alex was NPO (nothing by mouth) from 7:45 last night until 11 this morning. She could've had a little apple juice this morning if she'd woken up before 6:30, but instead she slept until almost 7. That worked well, because she's pretty used to playing for an hour or so before breakfast, and by the time an hour had passed we were ready to head off to the hospital.
I compulsively packed up a ton of gear to bring with us: toys, books, Alex's stuffed doggy, an extra outfit in case the sedative made her throw up, and an insulated case holding milk, water, and an ice pack. I felt a little foolish, but we turned out to need everything but the spare outfit.
Alex hasn't ever been afraid of doctors before, but this time she just seemed tense and spooked. I don't know if it was hunger catching up with her, or if our tension was communicating itself to her - because Michael and I were both pretty white-knuckled by that point. Whatever it was, she cried and clung when the nurse tried to take her vitals. This one was nowhere near as good as the nurse who did her EKG, and she needed to be. She wound up just skipping Alex's blood pressure entirely, and seemed kind of annoyed that she was crying so much.
A different nurse, Sara, took over from there, and fortunately this one was both skilled and kind. She grilled us about Alex's health and medical history and listened to her lungs. Then a doctor (not ours) came by and listened to her lungs as well. Apparently, at the slightest sound of a cold or respiratory problem we would've been sent home. But instead Sara explained the sedation protocol. Alex would get chloral hydrate by mouth, and it would taste pretty nasty. She might sleep for as much as two hours. She would probably get pretty fussy on her way down to sleep, and maybe when she woke up again as well.
What followed was the most unpleasant ten minutes I've had in... quite some time. I held Alex lying across my lap and clamped her head in place while Michael pinned her limbs and Sara squirted chloral hydrate into her mouth a little at a time. Alex wailed and fought. She was crying so hard she nearly choked. When it had all been given, she continued to scream unconsolably for another five minutes. Given that both Sara and the doctor had warned us that she would be upset on her way to sleep, it seemed plausible that she might scream for another twenty minutes, until the mickey finn kicked in.
But fortunately, we were able to distract her at that point with some story hour songs, and then some books. She wanted down, so we put her on the floor - but it was instantly clear that she was already starting to be affected. She walked like a man who's just downed a sixpack. So I sat on the floor with her and we played happily with nesting cups and lids. Soon she had to sit leaning against me for support, and then she got so wobbly that I no longer trusted her not to fall forward. I lifted her, and it was like picking up a newborn - she had no ability to support her own weight with her legs, and no ability to hold on and help me lift her. A few minutes later, as I sang lullabies, she was deep into a drugged sleep.
Sara came back for her, and we went to the echo suite. I laid Alex on a hospital bed and they hooked her up with electrodes, cables, a pulse oximeter, and a tiny blood pressure cuff. That was when I started to cry. Just the sight of my baby, alone on a big bed, lying so unnaturally still, all those cords leading away from her body... I knew that she was fine, and I knew that the echo wouldn't hurt her, but the image was still terribly hard to bear.
Michael and I sat a few feet away from the bed and held hands in the dark. The tech didn't narrate anything the way our prenatal ultrasound tech did, although she did reassure us that she was watching Alex's vitals and that everything was okay. We could see her heartbeat on the monitor. And that was how it went, for about half an hour. Then they unhooked her from the electrodes and we were allowed to touch her and hold her. She still had the blood pressure cuff and the pulse oximeter, and until she woke up Sara came by every fifteen minutes to check her vitals.
We went back to the exam room and held her, swaddled in sheets. She was much stiller than she is when she sleeps at home. I watched her pulse beat in her throat. Michael and I chatted about inconsequentials, and eventually he fell asleep too. An hour and a half after she'd gone to sleep, and almost two hours after she'd been medicated, she began to moan, stir, suck on the pacifier in her mouth.
"She's waking up," I told Sara on her next trip in for vital signs. "Michael, could you get the milk out?"
"Get her dressed first," Sara said. "I want to make sure she's really awake before you feed her, so she doesn't choke." So we slotted floppy little limbs into shirtsleeves and shorts. By the time we got to socks and shoes, Alex had perked up far enough to name them. I took this as a sign that she was awake enough to drink, and indeed, she lay groggily in my arms and sucked down eight ounces of frosty cold milk. We poured her into the stroller and brought her home.
She ate two scrambled eggs, a large handful of cheerios, half a slice of bread, and bits of Michael's and my lunches. She drank a lot of water. She was still quite floppy and off-balance - eventually we got tired of watching her fall over and sat her down in front of the TV. Ironically, right now she's napping, and has been for an hour. I hope that when she wakes up, she's got her coordination back.
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Date: 2006-06-30 03:33 am (UTC)I'm surprised they can't either inject the sedative or make it sweet. I mean, I'm a grown-up and I've very rarely been expected to drink something severely icky for medical reasons. Just once, if memory serves. You'd think for something as basic and common as a sedative they'd have worked out a better delivery method. Or maybe chloral hydrate is a specific sedative that doesn't interfere with organ function? If they're trying to gauge what her heart's up to, I guess they couldn't use something that would get it off kilter. And when my cat was at the vet's, they said they couldn't sedate him because it would slow his heart rate and he was already so sick they didn't want to risk it. Which, you know, quadruped not biped, but I don't think animal medicine is that different in concept from human medicine. Maybe chloral hydrate is a special sedative.
Anyway, I'm sure Alex is fine, and I'm sure the doctor will have good news. BUt it still sucks that her papa can't be there when you talk to the doctor.