The daycare center was already closed when I figured all of this out, so I couldn't call and ask them a bunch of annoying questions. Looking at Amelia's flushed cheeks and hearing her cough, I decided to call the nurse on call at our pediatrician's office and ask her what she thought. Having been down the RSV road with Jake twice, I was 99 percent sure that was what we were dealing with. The nurse agreed with me, especially when I told her that Amelia was wheezing a little and that her respiration rate was at least 80.
She called ahead to the ER at Children's and told them we were coming. I sent Grayson with her, because I was developing a migraine, and I thought I'd be better off with the other kids at home. I texted him a list of questions to ask the ER doc and told him not to leave the ER without an RSV test, for sure. I REALLY wanted to go and be there for her, but I knew I'd only make my migraine worse if I tried to go, so I reluctantly stayed behind.
He texted me a few pictures while they were there ...
She was pitiful ...
but apparently she perked up after they gave her some Tylenol, so they decided to send her home. No RSV test, not even a finger prick for a white count.
Now granted, she looked pretty cute in her polka dots, and I believe them when they said she perked up. I mean, you generally DO if your fever goes down two points in 20 minutes. But well enough to go home? I THOUGHT NOT.
Since she'd had a fever the day before and it was even higher the next morning, she couldn't go back to daycare, so I stayed home with her on Tuesday. It was apparent to me by 9:30 a.m. that she should have been in the hospital. I called our pediatrician and asked for an appointment that day, and they could see us at 2:00. I specifically didn't want to be "worked in" ... I wanted an APPOINTMENT, because I didn't want to have to sit in the waiting room for hours while we waited and hoped.
So we showed up at 1:55, were in a room at 2:00, and by 2:10, she was receiving a breathing treatment and an ambulance had been called.
Her pulse-ox (oxygen sats) was only 88, and her heart rate was 227. During the breathing treatment, her sats went up to 97 and her heart rate came down a little, but within five minutes of the neb treatment, her sats were back down below 90. It seemed to take forever for the ambulance to arrive, and I was dreading it.
Seeing the paramedics come into the room and crowd around her, securing her to the gurney, was so reminiscent of my own ambulance ride back in October ... I swear I think I have PTSD or something.
But this was worse, because it was my baby. And no one ever wants to see their baby being loaded into an ambulance. Ever. But if you DO have occasion to see it, you should take pictures for your blog, obviously.
She was a total champ, tolerating every bump and noise with barely a whimper.
She wasn't a huge fan of the "attaching the leads" process, though. Little Miss made her displeasure known, briefly, but I was happy to hear her cry. It was certainly better than the little whimpers and rasps that escaped her lips sporadically.
My baby.
At some point on this day, I Tweeted something to the effect of, "I'm getting ready to go
Look. I have a lot of respect for medical professionals. And we are fortunate -- SO fortunate -- to live in one of the top cities in the country with regard to modern medicine. But even our pediatrician said, "There's no way they should have sent her home last night. This baby needs to be IN THE HOSPITAL." And she did. She really, really did.
As much as I didn't want her to experience the inside of an ambulance, the wail of the siren, the bumpy, bumpy ride, the running of the stoplights ... she needed it. She needed to get there quickly.
As far as I was concerned, we were already at least 14 hours behind in her treatment, and I was ready to get her the help she needed. The paramedics were the first step.
More to come.
