The Plague

A brief health update on Jacob.

Last Saturday, Jacob started to sniffle. Next thing we knew, he had developed a full-blown upper respiratory infection, complete with rivers of thick green snot and a fever. We pulled back on his protein intake – He wasn’t hungry anyway. – and kept tabs on him. Daddy got evacuated from the master bedroom so I could have a comfortable sick room for us to basically lay in bed all day.

This was terrible timing, because Jacob’s Uncle Kevin and his family were visiting.

We were hoping for a quick recovery, but on Monday afternoon Jacob started acting strange, crying pitifully and shaking. Jacob’s Mamaw and I rushed him to the Lakewood Ranch hospital. I didn’t feel we even had time to go to Tampa General.

When they told me his fever had reached 105, I was floored. How did I not notice that he was getting worse? Was he regular sick, or, to borrow a phrase from my fellow citrullinemia mom blogger, citrusick?

Jacob barely moved when they drew blood and set up the IV, just reached for me crying, “Mama, mama” so, so softly. I steeled myself for a long hospital stay.

His ammonia was 16.

16.

That’s the lowest it has ever been.

We gave him Motrin and his temperature dropped to 102. We were home by bedtime.

You know, I have no idea what an ammonia crisis looks like for Jacob. I don’t ever want to find out. Regular sick is hard enough.

 

The hospital visit I almost didn’t write about

Jacob had a few episodes of vomiting and a mild fever last Thursday, which lead to a hospital visit on Friday. Never mind that the vomiting was probably from his maddening habit of shoving his fingers down his throat. Never mind that the “fever” was probably just overheating from snuggling his little furnace of a body in between us in bed when he wouldn’t stay down in his crib. With citrullinemia, we don’t assume “it’s nothing.”

The bloodwork came back. Ammonia and liver function both normal.

I almost didn’t write about this short hospital stay because it was “just another routine outpatient visit.” At some point, taking my child to the ER for bloodwork and an IV became as unremarkable as a visit to the pediatrician.

But today I decided to write. I write to give weight to the unpleasantness that Jacob has to endure on these visits. I write to give life to his medical records. I write to remember how my sweet baby, exhausted from the trauma of placing the IV, slept in my arms on the narrow hospital bed. How his doctor, in a blue wig and red foam nose on the day before Halloween, came to check on her tiny patient, and how his dietician kissed his sleepy head. How his grandmother sat in the plastic hospital chair in the cramped ER room for five hours to keep vigil over her beloved grandchild.

Until Jacob has the words, I will bear witness to all of his story.