The Busy B's: Second Home

Many people dream of having a second home, somewhere they look forward to spending time away from home. We have a "second home," but I do not enjoy being there. We have met many wonderful people, some of whom have changed our lives for the better. Our second home is the hospital and we almost made it a year this time since our last visit.

This last weekend, Owen was admitted to the hospital for the eleventh time, not including NICU. We started out on Friday the 10th with a few sniffles and a cough. Saturday, knowing he wasn't feeling well and had not eaten supper the night before, we gave him the choice of where to eat for breakfast, hoping to encourage him to eat something. When we were seated at the restaurant, all he wanted to do was to lie in Travis' lap--not a very Owen thing to do. We took him home where he started to become a little more tired and lethargic. By approximately 6:00 that evening, I could see he was beginning to retract, was looking pale, and just the slightest hint of blue was beginning to appear around his lips. I took him to the children's urgent care nearby, feeling pretty confident already this was going to be an admission.

The urgent care is only five to seven minutes away (compared to 25+ for the ER) and has fewer germs with which he could come in contact. That is the positive side to going to the urgent care instead of the ER. The negative is that if he needs admitted, then that means an ambulance. While he actually somewhat enjoys the ride, I already start adding up the bills in my head. The ambulance is necessary for transport since I am not authorized to have an oxygen tank in my car. Much to Owen's dismay we do not speed through the streets of town, lights and siren blazing.

While waiting for the ambulance, we heard a firetruck in the parking lot. Next thing I know, three firemen come in the door and start to check Owen's vitals and such. The medics came along a few minutes later. Owen was a little overwhelmed with all the people in the room, but was more concerned the firemen were there to give him a shot. Yep, the boy who cannot breathe that well and does not feel well is more concerned over a little shot. In fact, he asked every person that came in his room while we were there if they were going to give him a shot.

{The firetruck and ambulance that came for Owen--he loved all the lights}

He was loaded up into the ambulance and I hopped in beside him. About every two minutes he would ask if we were there yet...and every time we slowed down...and every time we stopped. The medic, whose name was Megan, was great with him and answered him every time. She tried her best to entertain him with balloon gloves and drawing things for him and getting the other medic to talk over the speaker to Owen.

As we were about to leave the urgent care for the hospital, the nurse practitioner turned to Owen and said, "Well, you are going to your second home." At this point, hospital stays are somewhat routine, one which we hope will change a little more as he gets older. Even though it is routine, I would not say it becomes easier. Part of it is a little bit of frustration in knowing I can care for him most times at home, but do not have access to certain medicines and to oxygen. It is not easy to watch your child struggling to breathe. It's not easy sitting in a hospital away from your other child and your husband, knowing the other child wants you just as much as the one you are with. It's not easy trying to keep a baby/toddler/preschooler in bed and to get them to not touch whatever is attached to them to try to rip everything off. It's not easy keeping that child occupied and distracted when they are not allowed out of bed. It's not easy sitting there in a building full of people and feeling alone.

We are very fortunate, however, to have a large group of friends and family whose messages and prayers uplift us, probably more than they will ever know. We are still blown away by how many people still pray for Owen, which is the best medicine of all.

One of Owen's favorite toys is a stuffed giraffe given to him during one of his first hospital admissions here after after we moved two hours away. That small token on the giver's part was received so gratefully by Owen and was very uplifting to us, the parents, as well. The small things really do matter.

{Getting settled at the hospital with James the giraffe and Sammy the seahorse}

Everyone complains about the sleeping arrangements at a hospital, so I'll spare you that diatribe--with enough lack of sleep, even the uncomfortable arrangements cannot hinder my sleep from coming. What's hard at night is the constant barrage of people coming in and out of the room all night. I have learned that I can usually request the nursing assistant to not come in to check blood pressure and temperature through the night. When I figured that out several admissions ago, I was beyond thrilled and we both sleep much better.

If Owen is not on continuous nebulizer medicine then that means the respiratory therapist is coming in every two hours during the night. As he becomes better, the medicine is spaced out to every three hours and eventually to four which is usually when I get to take him home. Sometimes he is able to sleep through the treatments, but other times he becomes very aggravated. I would be too if I woke in the middle of the night to some stranger standing over my bed blowing something in my face.

Thankfully, this stay was a short one. The doctor teams make their rounds in the mornings. When the team came in Sunday morning to see him, they told us that he would be going home probably on Monday morning since he was still on oxygen and his treatments weren't every four hours yet. The attending doctor said unless by some miracle we would not be heading home that day. Well, we got our miracle thanks to all those prayers.

Although Owen gets sick quickly, he also heals relatively quickly. Also, with his history of numerous admissions and respiratory illnesses, the medical staff feels comfortable sending him home with me when they would normally keep other children who haven't been hospitalized as many times. Although even we have referred to the hospital as his second home, it obviously is not and never will feel like home. We were able to go home about 6:30 in the evening, fewer than twenty-four hours after being admitted. There truly is no place like home and we are so happy to be here.