SOLSC - Needles and Balloons and Stitches

 It's March - Time for the month long Slice of Life challenge thanks to Two Writing Teachers.

(The conclusion of the saga that left of here.)

The pediatric nurses were great! They got her talking about other things, put a numbing cream on her hand, and promised her the ability to call 'stop!' at any time. She looked at some more pictures of her young self on the iPad and then it was time. 

She didn't want to look at the iPad so I looked in her eyes (shielding her face so she couldn't peek) and though she wasn't excited about it, she allowed them to hold her hand still. I couldn't down from ten, hoping it would be enough. As I reached four, the nurses joined in. "Phew!" I thought. I hadn't guessed incorrectly. When it finished G said, "It really hurt!" I asked her why she didn't say, "stop" and her reply was, "It was too fast!" :)

She was fascinated as she watched her blood be collected and relieved that it was over. We headed back to our room, tucked her and her abaya length hospital gown into bed with her fuzzy blanket and requested stuffed animals. The little boy, maybe 18 months, in the bed next to us kept having his mom pull the curtain open so he could see us. G wasn't sure she could fall asleep with him talking, but I knew it wouldn't take long. It was about 10:30 p.m. - sleep would over take her soon.

As she slept, I updated Facebook and What'sApp, sent a few iMessages, and thought about napping myself. My migraine was still hanging on, but I crawled into her bed with her where I would know any time she moved. I wanted to make sure she didn't pull her needle out, as that would be essential very soon.

At a quarter 'til one it was time to head to the OR. They transferred her to the bed for the journey through the hospital with the room nurse tucking her in snuggly under the hospital blanket. Upon arrival in the OR prep room they removed the blanket to transfer her to yet another bed, only to find the blanket had been so snugly wrapped that the needle came out when the blanket was removed. 

HUGE sigh. Needles were the challenge in the ordeal and now we needed to put another one in. I am VERY thankful I hadn't let the 'no admittance' sign slow me down. Tears and hugs and more numbing cream. The surgeon wanted to put the needle in, but due to the delay he wanted to take her into the OR to do it. They started to wheel her away from me, to an even more restricted area. THAT didn't go over well with his patient.

Once I had her calmed down again, and reminded her how quickly it had happened last time, we tried the same procedure; her looking into my eyes, a nurse holding her hand, and the surgeon attempting to slip in the needle to the vein on the back of her other hand. I counted again. She cried again. I got to zero only to realize that there was no needle in, or even close. 

We tried again on the back of her hand. Not successful.

Then he tried the crook of her arm with the same results: no needle.

Crying and talking about how much it hurt the entire time. The poor girl is exhausted emotionally and physically. It is 1:30 in the morning, for goodness sakes! I again ask what I have been asking all along - isn't there a way to put her out before any needles?

After some consulting back and forth in Arabic they agree that, yes, it could be done. ("WHY NOT AT THE START?!?!" I shout, inside my head...) 

They wanted to take her into the OR and have her blow into 'the green balloon', which would knock her out, and then insert the needle and do the surgery. After the complete breakdown we had the last time they tried to wheel her away without me, I ask if they can bring the balloon to where we are. They (two surgeons and three nurses) say they will ask, but I am already breaking many rules by being where I am. I offer to put on scrubs, shoes covers, hair net, etc. to go with them for a minutes, but they assure me there is no way that would be permitted. I persist. They say they will call the chief surgeon, as they would need his permission.

We wait some more.

During this time one of the nurses, who happens to be a friend/co-worker of the wife of a friend/colleague of ours (follow that?) is talking with G, doing a great job of building rapport and putting G at ease. All of a sudden everyone is all business, sitting up a bit straighter, speaking very professionally, as an oder gentleman enters the room. He and I speak briefly. He tells G that he wants her to go with him and try and blow up his green balloon two or three times. I encourage her to see if she can blow it up five times. As it becomes apparent that they are trying to take her to the OR to do this, I challenge G to see if she can do it and then tell me all about it. She hesitates, whispering to me that she had a hard time blowing up a balloon one time. I promised her that this balloon is different, it is easy to blow up - even a four year old can do it. The nurse talks to her more about the balloon and to my shock (Thank You Lord!) as they start to wheel her away, she doesn't even flinch.

I sit down to wait, but am told I have to go to the waiting area. When I point out I have no idea where the waiting area is, I am told I can go back to the room and they will call the nurses' station there as soon as they are finished. I begrudgingly leave the room, but wait in the corridor - sure that I will soon her the piercing screams of my child.

Oh! I forgot to add that my daughter is a red head (though she would tell you it is 'orange') and red heads are notorious for having a different reaction to pain and anesthetic. I tried to say something to the anesthesiologist, but she may very well be the first red head they have ever seen and this was totally lost on him. Another reason I am waiting to hear the anguish of my child.

After ten minutes of waiting, praying, sending some updates, and exchanging a few messages I realize that either a) I won't hear the screaming from here or b) there won't be any screaming. I also realize this may not be the route they will return by so I head back to the room. Or at least I try. 

I quickly realize that there are release buttons on the inside of each set of doors, but now I am on the outside of the pediatric ward and no way to get in. I pound. Nothing. I pound some more. Nothing. I wait and then pound even longer. Nothing. Eventually someone happens to wonder out and I am able to enter.

After chatting with the nurses for a few minutes, (telling them the story about the needle coming out and how I told the surgeon that the pediatric nurse had done a great job and then asking if they could get her to do it again...) The phone rings and the message is passed on that she is in recovery and I can go to her.

It turns out she wasn't quite in recovery, but I was there when she was wheeled into the room. She was completely out, but when I spoke to her she tried to open her eyes. After a few more minutes she asked me when they were going to do it. I assured her it was all finished.

From here it is a normal tale of recovery room time, slowly trying liquids to ensure there aren't adverse effects of the anesthetic, sleeping, and waiting for discharge. This includes the normal, for here, parts of 'quick' being four hours; dad having to come sign the papers; dad having to do the driving; dad having to make the follow up appointment, etc.

She had slept soundly for about four hours, but was happy to hear food had arrived and sat up as soon as the nurse set down her tray. Since we had been told we were being discharged, Daddy headed our way. After his arrival he was told to go to work and that they would call him in about four hours when we were actually ready to leave (we were waiting for something from the pharmacy to get brought upstairs). G was not happy with the delay as she wanted to be home. Right after this the boy next to us was peeking at us again and I looked at his intake date, posted on the wall above his bed - January 30th. When I shared that tidbit of news with G she didn't complain again. Perspective. As unpleasant as parts of this had been, for both of us, we were only 15 hours from when it had all started and the end was very much in sight. We are still praying for little Mohammed and hope he is able to go home soon.

SOLSC - Our Room Has Gone To The Dogs

 It's March - Time for the month long Slice of Life challenge thanks to Two Writing Teachers.

March is not just about the Slice of Life challenge, though that is a HUGE part of my month. It is also about basketball (my nephew's team lost in the state championships by ONE point) and birthdays (I get older soon - and so does my brother) and anniversaries (my brother and sister-in-law just celebrated and tomorrow would have been my parents 29th - figure that one out!) and spring break (Sri Lanka here we come), and then the two big ones: Easter and Iditarod. 

Saturday was the ceremonial start of the Iditarod, which is just what it sounds like. My house is twelve hours ahead of Alaska, so my days don't line up. It feels like the start was today, but my calendar says "Sunday". I will try to keep day references accurate to the time on the ground for the teams.

As with many years, snow was trucked into downtown Anchorage in order to prepare a trail for the dogs and sleds and mushers. As with other recent years, the lack of snow has impacted the trail. Last year the start was moved from Anchorage to Fairbanks. That didn't happen this year, but it was shortened significantly - from eleven miles to three. The Saturday start is about pageantry. It has nothing to do with race times, that comes Sunday.

Some of you may remember the Iditarod being covered on TV, and I have vague memories, but it wasn't until I spent time in Alaska that I began to care about the race. I then had dear friends who were involved in mushing. The race and the people came alive to me as I spent time with the people and the dogs that make The Last Great Race.

I started sharing my love for Iditarod in my classroom when I first began teaching. For my students in the Middle East, just the idea of Alaska is exciting and then you add on a 1,000 race and we are all hooked. Every year, as the Yukon Quest kids into gear in February, I take out Iditarod Dream and begin to share the excitement of Iditarod with my students. By the time the race arrives they are rooting for 'their' mushers, learning about life in rural Alaska, using math for temperature conversions and mileage calculations, following weather reports, and learning about human and canine athletes.

Today we spent time sharing things we have learned about this year's race and various mushers. The buzz in the room is strong. I wish I could give over entire days to Iditarod, and perhaps, with better planning I could. Though I would love entire days, my students' excitement might wane and sometimes it is best to leave them wanting more. Fortunately, for the next week and a half there will be a lot more.

(Photo credits: Kristi Lonheim)

SOLSC - Her Plans

 It's March - Time for the month long Slice of Life challenge thanks to Two Writing Teachers.

(Note: This slice is a break from the hospital saga. I will get the rest written, but I needed a break and this happened...)

With money burning a hole in her pocket she called a family meeting. The plan was all laid out in her mind, she just had to convince us to help her execute it. First, Daddy drives her to the toy store to see if there is anything she can afford. Next, if the toy store isn't open she needs him to take her back later. She wants the toy before the playdate she is hoping to have in the afternoon, though it has not been confirmed yet. 

And then comes reality. Yes, it is your allowance. Yes, we know you are so excited to actually receive it as the past countless months you have had to use it to repay us for things you have lost or ruined. Yes, we give you allowance for the purpose of learning the value of money and how to manage it. Yes, we would love for you to buy something that you would like to have. (Do you feel it coming?!)

However.

However, you first need to buy the chocolate milk to replace the one you took from a classmate. Oh, and you promised a friend that you would buy them gum (five packs, was the promise). And it is Friday - Friday morning in Saudi - I don't think the toy store opens until the afternoon.

So, let's make a plan. You not only have your allowance, but also the Chinese New Year money you were given. How much is that all together? (She calculates and beams as she realizes it is 14 riyal - the equivalent of $3.75.) What do you HAVE to buy? Chocolate milk. Then you can decide what kind of gum. (Neither of these 'debts' seem to bother her.) With whatever is left you can buy whatever you like.

"Can we go now?!"

After more discussions including what we know is open and what is likely not open and Daddy saying he is only going out once today and pointing out we will be going grocery shopping tomorrow and we know the toy store is open then she agrees to the hypermarket that has a toy section. (She even remembers seeing Joy from Inside Out there, so it might not be too bad.) They head out.

Upon their return she has purchased the chocolate milk and five packs of gum. The smile is still from ear to ear even though all the toys were too expensive. I should have known from the smile that she had another plan.

"Mommy? Can I take my money to the store and buy some gum?"

"You mean you want to walk to the store on the compound and buy some gum for yourself?"

"Yes! Can I go by myself?"

"Hmmm. If you bring back the change and the ONE pack of gum to show us before you open it, I think it might work. Let me ask Daddy if he thinks I am crazy."

After a very brief parenting meeting we agree that the errand and opportunity to show responsibility are great ideas and send her off. She returns with a proud, "I'm home!", just a few minutes later. Waving her change in one hand and the pack of gum in the other, pride bursting from every pore, she takes off her shoes, washes her hands, and asks if she can have a piece of gum.

Before bedtime she has had gum three times and shared gum with three other friends. (I am sure she has plans for more gum tomorrow.) As she grows up, it is the little things that mark the path from little kid to independence. Today some trail markers were laid.

SOLSC - Admitted

 It's March - Time for the month long Slice of Life challenge thanks to Two Writing Teachers.

(Continued from yesterday's post)

There is ALWAYS a risk with general anesthetic and in Saudi I feel that risk even more so. We had a friend, several years ago, who had to have heart surgery. The surgeon was excellent and the surgery was successful, but there were complications and she went into a coma. We learned many things about the laws of patient 'rights' in KSA through that experience. It wasn't pleasant and parts of it still haunt me. I will always know that the first choice to have a medical procedure is not here. This is where my faith plays a huge part in the story. I am not in control. God is. For whatever reason I was much more at peace with being admitted and going the route of surgery than with having my daughter restrained against her will.

Daddy has to sign all of the paperwork, but isn't allowed to stay. I can stay in the room with her, but have to have my abaya on when a doctor chooses to come into the room. Don't try to figure out how all of the gender fun of this land of sand. Just know it plays into everything.

Thankfully wasta plays into everything as well. It is basically the idea of the western saying, "It's not what you know, it's who you know." Once the decision had been made to be admitted I grabbed my phone to see if there was any wifi to be had and voila! G had asked if there were people praying for her so we composed a Facebook message together. I sent it out and also copied it to some What'sApp groups of people here. Within minutes she was much more relaxed and said, "People must be praying." as she realized the change. She looked through old pictures and videos (mostly of herself) on the iPad as I communicated with folks around the world on my phone. One of our friends works with us as school. His wife is a nurse, and though she wasn't on duty, she called her friends who were on shift and let them know that our daughter would be heading their way. When we got to the prep area for the OR we were very warmly greeted, one of the nurses intentionally making a special connection with G. That connection helped greatly when it was time to be wheeled off to surgery - where Mommy couldn't go.

But I get ahead of myself. While waiting in the ER, and after we thought Daddy had signed all of the paperwork, we sent him home to get requested items like her own blanket, stuffed animal that serves as a pillow, another favorite off her bed, pajamas, flashlight, and water bottle - all the things that make a bed feel like 'hers'. And then we waited some more.

She continued to look through pictures and videos on the iPad. I shared with her comments and messages as they came in. And we waited.

Two surgeons came down to talk with us. We both enjoyed both of them - an Egyptian man and a Saudi woman. The man has a daughter nearly exactly G's age and the woman has a 2.5 year old. They were good with her, but didn't force her to interact. We talked a bit about life in the Middle East, schools in town, parenting, etc. Eventually a nurse came with a wheelchair and took us upstairs.

We were shown our room, right across from the nurse's station; bed A (with a curtain drawn around bed B). Then it was time for a blood draw. Ugh!

SOLSC - The ER

 It's March - Time for the month long Slice of Life challenge thanks to Two Writing Teachers.

(Continued from yesterday's post)

It was very apparent that a band-aid and time were not going to heal this. The gash, being both a smidge on the wide side and a smidge on the deep side, was going to need closing medically. Since going to the doctor was not the option she wanted, the evening was not going to be fun and I told her so. I also told her there wasn't an option. Our job, as her parents, sometimes involves making her do things she doesn't want to do, and this was one of those. 

Before anything else, I wanted to get her calmed down. We moved from the entryway to my recliner to cuddle and I grabbed the iPad, trying to get her request for ice skating videos to load. Daddy brought a slice of cheese as he prepared grilled cheese sandwiches - one of her favorites. After the slice of cheese she said she as full so I gathered a couple of snack, her evening medicine, and a light fleece. Shoving those things in my bag I let her choose a stuffed animal and we headed to the truck.

It was not lost on me that we were headed back the the ER I had been in as a patient myself just 36 hours previously. Even now, as I recall this time my blood pressure increases and I'm not sure I can get through all of it without turning into a mess. I will summarize to say, "She wasn't having any of it." After presenting the options, cajoling, negotiating, trying to put her in charge, and ultimately them trying to restrain her, I ended it. She was crying hysterically and then turned to a calm sob and said, very clearly, "Please don't hold me!"

"STOP!" I shouted.

That was it. She had clearly spoken her needs. Perhaps it is because I am relatively small and had an incident where someone I trusted held me against my will and no matter what I said, wouldn't let me go. Perhaps it is just what mothers do. Whatever the reason. This was not going to work. She was going to have to be put under general anesthesia.

Now remember, we are in Saudi. There isn't a doctor's office or urgent care. The ER was our only choice. The irony of it all is that when we arrived I knew we were not an 'emergency' and asked if we could see a pediatrician. The intake receptionist said we could, but first we would have to be seen by 'Section A', the uppity name for their ER. Now we were going to see a pediatric nurse and then a surgeon. The upside was that rather than the two stitches the ER doctor was going to do just to close it up, she was going to have someone who was able to take the time to make it as clean and mitigating a scar as possible. The down side was spending the night (we would have been home by now, even after stopping for ice cream if she hadn't been so scared) and she would be put under general anesthetic. 

Upstairs we go!

SOLSC - What A Difference ANOTHER Day Makes - Ugh

 It's March - Time for the month long Slice of Life challenge thanks to Two Writing Teachers.

No, this is not a joke. (Yesterday I posted "What A Difference A Day Makes".) I am not sure I have the energy, let alone brain power and awakefulness to share it all now. Here is the teaser - a sliver of life.

I was not able to write this morning, as per my usual writing time as I was at the hospital. Yes, I went back to the ER, but this time not for me. 

As we were walking into the house yesterday evening my daughter tripped and fell. Oh how I wish there was some amazing story to this fall as I have already been asked about it innumerable times, but there isn't. She simply fell, as all kids do from time to time. Daddy picked her up, the crying not being a true indication of anything at that point, but I saw blood so I hurried ahead to get a clean cloth and an ice pack.

As they walked through the door I wiped up some of the blood that had accumulated in the 20 steps they had taken; her arm, her hand, her cheek. I sat in the entry way with her applying slight pressure and fighting with her to let me keep ice on her face. The blood was coming from near her right eye. As her crying continued hysterically and her breathing had a 'hic' to each attempted inhale I tried to ascertain if anything else hurt. She was not having any of it so I started asking her if she could open and close her hands. I was still trying to see if anything else was going on, but I also wanted her to focus on something else because she was not calming down at all. She didn't want to have anything to do with that either, but her volume had at least diminished. "Does anything look funny?" I asked. She shook her head. I breathed a sigh of relief; she hadn't lost consciousness and didn't have blurry vision. When I asked her to hold the ice pack the focal point of the ice shifted from the bloody gash near her eye (what I could see) to her cheek bone (what she could feel). At least I was paying attention and learning things.

It was 5:30 p.m. I had a migraine. I had planned on taking some meds and hiding out, letting Daddy and daughter spend the evening together. Ha! I was about to be spending 18 hours at the hospital.

SOLSC - What A Difference A Day Makes

 It's March - Time for the month long Slice of Life challenge thanks to Two Writing Teachers.

What a difference a day makes. Yesterday at this time I was in the ER. What?!?! Don't worry. I am here to write about it so everything must have turned out OK, right?

I awoke about 2 am with a migraine. This is not unusual for me. I took the magic pills, went downstairs to be in an upright position, and waited for the pain to go away. At about 2:30 I started feeling funny - really funny. I then knew I was on the path to passing out. As the body chills began to overtake my body something I read this summer went through my mind. 

She told of her heart attack and it started much like this. Fortunately for her she has a background in medicine and knew to call 911 right away. Just after she did she blacked out and the responders had to break down her door to get to her. 

As this flashed through my mind I thought I should probably get upstairs and tell my husband something was up. (Yelling crossed my mind, but with the AC on - and his ability to sleep soundly - he wouldn't have heard me.) I did make it up the stairs, deliver the message, and (very proud of myself) laid down on the floor and fell asleep.

He must have fell asleep too because I woke up to a dark room and sleeping husband. I felt better and went back downstairs with a mixture of thoughts storming my brain.

• I live in Saudi Arabia. I can't just call 911.
• I live in Saudi Arabia. I can't drive so I would have to have my husband take me.
• My daughter is sleeping and she can't be left alone.
• Who could I call at this hour?
• I don't want to inconvenience anyone, especially in the middle of the night - and I'm sure it is nothing. I feel fine now.

My thoughts continued in this type of pattern, but as I would have occasional heart palpitations I also thought, "What if it IS something? Should I allow my want to not bother anyone possibly lead to my daughter and husband having to live the consequences of my choice?" While these new thoughts added to the torrent in my mind I thought that 5 am would be a first reasonably-unreasonable time to wake someone.

At 4:45 I made my daughter's lunch, packed her backpack, made her a 'to-go' breakfast, gathered her medicine and sun screen so that at five I could call someone and start heading to the ER. I had been thinking about who to call. After weighing many options I had two options I was willing to go with. I let my husband in on my last couple hours of thoughts and made a call.

No answer.

I called the landline, thinking it might rouse them from a sound sleep enough to hear their phone vibrating. No answer. I called the mobile again. No answer.

On to the next option. They answered on the third ring and said they would be right over. I threw on some sweats and answered the door.

One advantage to all of us living in the same compound is that all units have basically the same layout so saying, "Make yourself at home!" pretty much covers everything. I showed them what I had laid out, gave them timeline of usual, but noting that the only thing that really mattered was the medicine, put on my abaya and went out the door.

As my husband drove to the best ER in town (which really isn't saying much) we shared our thoughts and feelings and prayers. Upon arrival at an empty ER I was quickly seen, monitored, and tested. Blood work, EKG, and chest x-ray all came out normal. BP was high, but came down and they sent me off.

I would have expected my reaction to the non-results to be closer to, "See! It was nothing." That isn't the case. I probably should have woken people earlier. I would want someone to wake me, no matter what time. I would be beyond frustrated (and at times pissed off) if my husband let medical signs go, without taking action, and it resulted in more than being monitored for 2 hours and sent on his way.

I am thankful that everything is fine.
I am thankful for friends.
I am thankful for this day.
What a difference a day makes.