The Long Awaited Conclusion - Tube Surgery Week!

Okay, quick recap...

Aidan had his G-Tube Surgery on a Thursday and we settled into his room for a one-night stay.

Thursday night should have been a quiet one.  Aidan was medded up and should have been sleeping peacefully.  But he wasn't.  He just... wasn't.  I finally broke down and begged for more morphine for him.  Tylenol wasn't doing it.  Hell, if you cut me open, you'd better be ready to pony up something better than Tylenol for days.  Help a bug out!

The nurses took pity on us (me) and gave him another dose of morphine, letting me know that he wouldn't be coming home until we knew his pain was controllable with Tylenol alone.  Made perfect sense to me - sounded like a Friday afternoon departure instead of a morning one.  Friday morning arrives, and Aidan's meds are dispensed again.  More morphine.  Interesting...

Friday afternoon brings the nurse, with the news that because he's still been on morphine today, we don't really know how manageable his pain is.  He also hasn't been given anything to eat, so we don't know if he can keep anything down.  I'm wishing I brought a few more pairs of clean underwear right about now...

Friday evening, Aidan spiked a fever.  We won't be going home on Saturday morning either, it seems.  Virus?  Infection?  Time will tell.

The fever breaks overnight, but on Saturday morning, he starts vomiting his feeds.  This is no good.  Really, no good.  We spend Saturday and Sunday changing sheets and hoping that this time it'll stay down.  It doesn't.

Monday arrives, and I have to go back to work.  This is what I had to leave behind:

 While I'm gone, there are discussions of changing his G-Tube to a GJ-Tube - but ultimately, the doctors decide that maybe he'll start keeping things down better at home.  So he's released.  You heard me.  They sent me home with a toddler that I literally cannot feed.  I almost lost my mind.  Sure enough, Monday night, he vomited his entire feed.

Tuesday, Aidan goes to daycare.  I really had no options - I needed to be at work, and I had nowhere else to leave him.  He wasn't sick, he was just hurting.  And to his credit, he really was a trooper - but he didn't eat a thing.  When I got home, I took him back to the ER downtown.  I was so angry - even now - two months later - typing this post makes me shake uncontrollably with anger.

I  managed to stay calm and explain our situation.  Baby can't eat.  Baby was discharged anyway.  Not leaving this hospital until I know how to feed him.  He may not look that sick - but the blanky being shoved into his forehead suggests otherwise.  Please trust me.  I know my son.  He is not okay.  We are not okay.

Also, note my face.  I am officially done being F'd with.  I don't remember my last shower, where in god's name are my contacts, and why is no one helping my baby?!

We are admitted.  Same floor.  Same room.  Same doctors and nurses on shift.  I can only imagine the conversations being had outside our door, but I am so far beyond caring, it's not even funny.

The next two days were a blur.  We experimented with bolus feeds and continuous feeds and fast feeds and slow feeds until I felt like we might actually be able to make this work at home.

And then came Friday.  By Friday, I had no job, I smelled terrible, I'd cried and shouted and screamed enough to last several lifetimes...  But I had this...

...And I took it home :-)