I called home as I was leaving the utah python user group. Rachel's mom answered. Was there a tone in her voice that meant something was Not Good or is my memory shaded by what happened? She told me that Rachel had weighed little Rygg at the post office and he was down to 5 pounds 3, that she had been pretty distraught, that Mom and Dad had calmed her down a bit and she was taking a bath to clear her mind.
The pediatrician, and the midwife agreed that if he wouldn't eat from breast or bottle that evening then it was time to take him to the ER. So when I got back our neighbor Brian and I gave him a blessing, then we tossed the baby bag in the car that Rachel had packed and headed up to Primary Children's Hospital in SLC. I was pretty much retracing my steps; the user group meets at one of the research buildings at the U where one of the members works, in the same medical complex as the hospital.
We got to the ER around 10:20, and after navigating our way to the ER from pretty much the exact opposite side of the hospital where the signs told us was the emergency parking -- supposedly the ER actually has valet parking, so those were VERY poor directions -- we got to the ER where the triage nurse tested his oxygen, decided it looked a bit low, and sent us back to an exam room for tests. Virtually no waiting; I was very surprised.
In the exam room they put a bunch of sensors on his chest for heart rate and breathing.
Wait. Doctor came in, wearing a green shirt the color of the RN's uniforms but otherwise unremarkable. I thought doctors were supposed to wear white coats. Young, too. She told us what they were going to do to start, then left. She was patient explaining things to me in small words; I liked her.
Wait. Rectal thermometer. Didn't tell me the reading but if it had been high she probably would have said something.
Wait. Then they put an IV line in and drew blood from it several times for a battery of tests.
Wait. They weighed him (2.3 kg = 5 lb 1 oz) and put saline on the line to rehydrate him, along with some broad-spectrum antibiotics, just in case.
Wait. First blood results: low sodium, very high glucose. Nobody has seen this before; our doctor asked the endocrineologist, with no better results. Best they can come up with is that it's either (a) diabetes or another pancreatic problem, or (b) the results are whacky because of the dehydration. They want to re-test after the "lumbar puncture." I guess they think that sounds less scary than "spinal tap." They are right.
Wait. Spinal tap to test for meningitis. The nurses and doctor all told us how hard this was for parents to watch, since the kids hate hate hate being curled up so their spine is accessible, but the actual needle pain is no worse than a shot. I stayed to provide what moral support I could and in fact he appreciated having my finger to suck on. He actually fell asleep after the needle was inserted and while the fluid was collecting, slowly. I had to ask how to operate the sink to wash my hands; turns out it was foot-pedal operated, and there was a blanket covering the pedals.
Second round of blood drawing, for the sodium/glucose re-test.
Security guy comes in. "Is everyone okay?" We and our unseen companions across the partition say we are fine. Rachel says sotto voce, "This is the emergency room. What does he
think?"
Wait. Can we feed him now? Oh, the doctor was going to check on that, let me remind her. Yes, you can feed him. We're going to try to get him a bed in the neonatal unit so he won't be next to the kids with contagious diseases.
1:50 AM. Three hours plus into this. Not the night we had planned. I tell Rachel that if it's any consolation, the hospital is one place you can be sure that no matter how bad your night is, you can be sure someone else's is worse. It's not any consolation.
