BLOG POST Just Another Day at the Bean House The resident did not move for a few seconds, she remained frozen with her eyes struggling to lock on Jim’s, pen in hand and held in mid air inches above the clipboard. She was young and in her twenties, a pretty girl with long straight brown hair that she often throughout the night tucked behind her ears. Her mouth was agape whenever she zeroed in on Alex’s story, incredulity spread across her face. “Just another day at the Bean House.” That was the response my husband gave this past Monday when the resident doctor in the emergency room was taking yet another history of our situation and what led us to her that evening. He made that remark after she asked, “How did you guys do it? I mean, as a parent, wow. You guys saved his life. How did you two hold it together enough to pull it off?” In truth it was the third time in the last two months that it happened, only this time more severe than the last. The majority of doctors and nurses in the ER and elsewhere in the hospital know us and understand exactly why we are there the second they catch a glimpse. Since Alex was a 24 week preemie and I am diabetic and had four transplant surgeries, we are both frequent flyers. But since Alex had his first grand mal on Christmas Day two years ago, we have been there quite often in more life threatening situations. This past June Alex’s seizures began getting worse. One day I was home with the boys, Max was doing school work and Alex and I were on the floor doing crawling exercises. While up in a crawl position Alex’s arms just buckled and he landed on his face. Now I wasn’t too concerned at the time, he does this often when he is done and no longer wants to participate. But this time his eyes were glued to the right and his mind and focus were lost. I yelled his name, shook his shoulder, nothing. I felt his chest and he wasn’t breathing. I began to give him rescue breaths (mouth-to-mouth) and Max ran, got my phone and we called 9-1-1. Alex was brought to the ER and released a few hours later with some paralysis on his left side, but he fully recovered in the next few days. A few weeks later on a beautiful Saturday evening we were all sitting on the outside porch, enjoying the breeze and the smell of the ocean, listening to our favorite country Pandora station. We were about to eat dinner when it happened again, Alex’s eyes jetted to the right and stayed there, his body frozen. We called for him but he was unresponsive, so we ripped his shirt off and he wasn’t breathing. This time Jim started with the rescue breaths as I was running for the emergency medication we have on hand. Alex began to breathe on his own within a few minutes and came out of it. I was on the phone then with the doctor who was guiding me on what things to look out for and on increasing his medications. And then Monday happened. I had dropped Max off for a sleepover at a friend’s house, came home and began running on the treadmill. Jim began the usual nightly routine with Alex, sitting him on the potty, brushing his teeth and giving him his medicine. While on the potty, his eyes once again jetted to the right and he froze. “Alex? Hey buddy wake up. Alex are you there? Alex? Alex! Tracy get in here, help! He’s seizing again, help!” I jumped off the treadmill and ran into the bathroom, lifted him off the pot and layed him on the floor. He was naked at this point, and his little body was frozen, he wasn’t breathing. Jim began giving him rescue breaths and I felt for a pulse. I felt a slight rapid one. I turned around to look on the counter and grabbed his emergency medicine. I administered it (all emergency seizure medication is rectal, poor thing, but it begins acting instantaneously) and then called 9-1-1. Jim continued to give him breaths for the next few minutes. The police came first, followed by the ambulance a few minutes later. The cops called multiple times for the ambulance to come, Alex kept seizing and just looked…gone. His body was still, head and eyes tilted to the side, unresponsive. I was on my knees on the floor next to him, bobbing my body up and down while holding his hand and stroking his hair. The EMT’s rushed in and everyone cleared the way but me. They got out the defibrillator and slapped the sticker pads on his chest. “Let go of him mom.” The EMT instructed. “I can’t. I can’t let go.” “You have to mom, let go and let the defibrillator do its work.” I let go, and the defib announced Alex had a heartbeat. I grabbed his hand again and began talking to him. “Do you think he can hear you mom? Do you think he understands?” “Of course he does! He understands everything, I am sure he terrified right now!” “Well see if he is able to understand what is going on. Ask him to squeeze your hand.” “Alex, can you please squeeze Mommy’s hand to let us know if you are able to understand everything going on?” His little knuckles suddenly turned white from the huge squeeze his tired worn out body exhaustingly spoke. I let out a tiny cry and quickly covered my mouth so he wouldn’t get worried or see I was upset. “Mom do you think you can carry him outside to the gurney?” I lifted him up splayed out in both my arms, cradled him to my chest and walked outside. Our street was shut down, six lit-up cop cars were blazing in front of the house along with three ambulances. I placed Alex on a gurney where he was strapped in and rolled into the ambulance. I followed and sat on one side of him while the EMT’s sat on the opposite side. There were three in there along with and an additional driver. One of them hooked Alex up to an IV to prepare him for the hospital. I kept holding his hand while they monitored his vitals and were bagging him (mask over his face and breathing air into his mouth). Then a few minutes later it happened again. This time his feet began kicking wildly, his head thrown to the side, eyes paralyzed to the right, upper body rigid, and he stopped breathing. They had been bagging him with oxygen the entire time, but his tongue fell back into his airway, blocking the air from getting to his lungs. They shoved a green tube up his nose and down his throat and started again bagging him. It worked. The resident stayed around to hear this story told and retold over and over again to the ER docs, nurses, on call neurologists, and finally floor doctors and nurses once he was admitted. She was not the only resident following our case. All of them on the Emergency Room floor were, all amazed by Alex’s extensive history and by Jim and I going over it time and again, relaying everything in detail from the time he was born and every single test, medication, surgery and diagnosis he has ever had. A few hours later one of the male residents pulled Jim aside. “Just so you know, this is why I got into medicine. I have observed how much you and your wife love and will do anything for your child. Watching you I realize how important this all is for me to learn, not only the medicine but the family. Thank you.” And he walked away. Alex was released four days later, on two different seizure medicines now that keep him partially sedated throughout the day. Reportedly he will be out of it for the next four weeks, and then hopefully will begin to not tire as much. We will see. But he is home and very happy to be here, and I feel like the luckiest person on Earth to say that. Our family is complete.
Posted on: Wed, 20 Aug 2014 11:53:49 +0000
Trending Topics
Recently Viewed Topics
© 2015