Everything comes in threes…

Donut hasn’t had the best of times over the past couple of months.

It all started in December, when hubby treated me to an early birthday present.  He booked for us to go away for the night, leaving both boys with my parents.  It was a lovely break…  We had dinner, played Fallout Monopoly, and the following morning, breakfast, and he took me to watch Star Wars:  The Last Jedi, before heading to my parents to pick the boys up.

That was when it all started.

We arrive at their house, and my mum is cuddling Donut.  “He’s not well…” she said.

His breathing was erratic – like he couldn’t catch his breath.  He was also making a weird “clicking” noise, which sounded on every short inhale.  He also didn’t want to move.  He seemed really lethargic.

Mum explained that he’d been that way since about 11am – it was then nearly 4pm when I was there.

An emergency appointment to see a doctor was in order, so we called NHS 111 for advice.  They agreed that they would like Donut to seek medical advice, so just after 6pm, I took him to the clinic.

Immediately the physician said that she wasn’t happy, and she called an ambulance for him.  She placed a mask on him, connected to an oxygen tank, and filled a tube with what looked like a liquid, which started steaming and bubbling as he breathed.

She took his pulse, blood pressure, and checked his lung capacity.  His pulse was racing, his temperature was through the roof, and his lung capacity was down to just 75%.

We waited for almost 3 hours before the ambulance arrived.  I felt like I had failed as a mother.  Why didn’t I just take him straight to A&E?  Obviously this was an urgent matter, but as usual, I tried to shrug it off, saying, “ahh, he’ll be ok shortly…”

My husband was the one who went in the ambulance with him.  I couldn’t face it – I almost had a breakdown.  I just couldn’t cope.  Instead, I took Gning home, and explained that his baby brother wasn’t very well, and would hopefully be home from hospital very soon.

10pm-ish.  Hubby phoned me, asking to come and pick them up from hospital.  He said that his battery (on his phone) was almost dead, so he would explain everything when we got there.

I parked in the “drop-off” zone, and managed to get a message to hubby to let him know where we were.  As soon as we seen hubby and Donut come out through the automatic sliding doors, Gning was out of the car, running towards them.  He ran like the wind.  As soon as he reached them, he was on his knees, giving Donut a massive hug.  Donut was smiling and laughing.

Back in the car, hubby explained to me that a virus had triggered a breathing attack.  As Donut is under 5 years old, the NHS are not allowed to diagnose asthma (big concern, as hubby has suffered with it all his life), but he had an asthma attack.  Instead of being diagnosed with infantile asthma, he was diagnosed with Infantile Wheezing Syndrome.

He was sent away from the hospital with a blue inhaler – Salbutamol, and we were instructed to give him 5 “puffs” every 4 hours for the first week, then drop it to 2 “puffs” every 4 hours for the second week, whilst waiting to see our own doctor.

I waited until the New Year, as the week between Christmas and New Year was fully booked at the surgery.  The doctor had looked through all of Donut’s notes, and I explained what we had been doing (with the inhaler).  The doctor seemed happy with his progress, so advised that we don’t have to continue using the inhaler unless we deem it necessary.  We were to book another review in 6 weeks time, and in the meantime, keep a diary (of sorts) of when we use the inhaler, and how many “puffs”.

Fast forward to Sunday (14 January).  Donut falls asleep on me in the front room.  Hubby carries him to bed, and tucks him in.

About 10.30pm, Donut is up and back in the front room.  He’s whingy.  I pick him up, and his temperature is sky high again.

I strip his pyjama’s off him immediately, and advise hubby to find some paracetamol urgently – which he did.  We gave him some medicine, and I lightly cuddled him.  We had to bring his temperature down; so I told hubby to take him in to the “big bed”, and to lay him on top of the covers, ensuring the ceiling fan is on.  Within 20 minutes, Donut is asleep again.

It was a bad night.  He was tossing and turning, and snoring snotty snores…  I spent most of the night awake, constantly checking on his temperature.  He was still hot.

Morning came, and hubby came home from work (he works 2am-7am-ish), and Donut was still hot to the touch.  We also found it very difficult to wake him up.

I called our doctors surgery at 8am, when they first opened, and explained that I needed an urgent appointment.  We were given one for 9am.

Donut was diagnosed with the “flu”.  He was prescribed Ibuprofen, and we were advised to alternate the paracetamol with the Ibuprofen.  Plenty of water, and plenty of rest is also essential to his recovery.  Just to ensure that this didn’t trigger another “breathing attack”, we also started giving him his 2 “puffs” of the inhaler, every time he took some medicine.

Thankfully he didn’t suffer for long, as he seems back to normal today (Thursday).  We’ve stopped the medicines and inhaler, however today brought “incident number 3”.

They always say that everything comes in 3’s.  Let’s just hope that Donut doesn’t have to suffer any more after today.

I instructed Gning to go and brush his teeth.  Now, Gning doesn’t like brushing his teeth, so to make sure he was doing it properly, I stood in the doorway of my bedroom, where I was watching him in the bathroom.  Donut was in the front room, and seen me.  Thinking I was playing a game, he runs from the front room, in to the hallway, trips up over his empty Lego bag, and falls head first, straight in to the door frame.

He hit it hard.  The bang was like nothing I have heard.  The whole house seemed to shake.

I scooped him up off the floor, ran in to the front room and sat down with Donut on my knee.  I had my hand firmly pressed against his forehead, and told hubby to get me some Witch Hazel on a tissue as a matter of urgency.

Ten seconds later, hubby had the Witch Hazel soaked tissue, and I removed my hand.  No blood – it’s not cut, but there’s already a bump.  Just as soon as I moved my hand, the tissue was placed on the bump.

I had to take Gning to school, so instead of having to make hubby constantly hold the soaked tissue on Donut’s forehead, I managed to find two Star Wars themed plasters (band-aids), which secured the tissue in place.  Hubby kept Donut amused while I did the school run.  When I got back, Donut was playing on Star Wars Battlefront II (see a theme here?  We’re Star Wars mad, lol).

Donut heard me come back, so he tottled in to the front room, and asked me to take the tissue off his head.  I gladly obliged him, as he’d had it on without complaining for almost 30 minutes.

I asked him how his head was…  “Fine”, he said in his own little way.

He’s bumped, and it’ll probably bruise too, but without the Witch Hazel, it could have been a lot worse.

Let’s hope that’s the end of it.

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For more information on Witch Hazel, and it’s healing properties, click here

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Introductions are long overdue

Ladies and gentlemen of the blogging world…  This post is long overdue, so I apologise for the delay, but as I am sure that you will imagine, things have been a little hectic in my house at the moment!

Birth Announcement

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Elijah

Born – 1 June 2015 at 10:23am via elective C-Section (medical reasons)

Weight – 10lb 06oz

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There’s a very proud and loving big brother too…

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It’s all happening today…

Today I am 38 weeks pregnant.

Last night was the last time I will ever sleep in my own bed, cuddling my ‘only’ child.

At 6pm today, I am being admitted to hospital, as because I am having an elective c-section (due to medical reasons), I need to start a course of steroid injections before the surgery.  My antenatal consultant stated that I could have had the injections as an out-patient, but because of complications that could arise, she would rather that I just go in today as an in-patient, and “see it out”.  I thought it best to follow her advice.

On Monday, 1 June 2015, our second ‘bundle of blue’ will be ‘hatched’ in to the world.  I have no idea on the time of the surgery yet, although I have been told that because I will already be an in-patient, it is more than likely going to be the first or second section of the morning.

I’m nervous.  No.  I’m terrified.  I have what is known as the ‘second child fear’.  I suppose I should have tried to tackle this much earlier, but I have been assured from so many people that my thoughts will disappear.

Basically, I am worried that Gning is going to feel neglected when Donut comes along.  Is he going to be jealous..?  I don’t think so…  He’s been cuddling me, and asking questions – for probably the past 6 months – and asking if he can “shake Donuts hands” when he’s here.  I don’t think the problem is with Gning.  No.  It’s me.  I’m scared that I cannot love a second child…  Will I be able to love Donut as much as I love Gning?  Will I have to share the love..?  According to everyone I have already spoken to, they are empty anxieties.  I will always love my little man as strongly as I do now; and when Donut arrives, and is in my arms, apparently, there’s another “bubble of love” that will pop, and it’ll be like I double the amount of love I have to give.

I’m ok.  I promise!  It is just the nerves talking…

It’s 9:10am, Saturday morning.  I’ve been up for a little under an hour; and I already have my lunch in the slow cooker.  We’re having braising steak, in a mushroom gravy, with baby new potatoes (with the skins still on); buttered with herbs.  It was delicious last time we had it, and I imagine it’s going to be just as lush this time – although hubby dearest is disagreeing me with, as he and mushrooms just don’t see eye-to-eye…  Ahh well.  It just means more for me 😛

I have a relatively full day today.  You know – considering I said that I am going to try to have a lazy day at home, before heading up to my parents, so they can ‘escort’ me to the hospital.  Plans never seem to follow through though, when you want a quiet day.

So, this is the last post I am making as being a parent to an ‘only’ child.  The next post I write will no doubt be to introduce our latest addition 🙂

Until then, have a wonderful weekend x

The Wait is Over

I’m a little late in posting this update, but everything has been a bit of a nightmare over the past couple of days.

Firstly, I am pleased to say that my husband’s surgery was a success.  They had to make one of the cuts wider that they wanted to, but the whole procedure was still classed as keyhole.  He returned home yesterday morning, grotty and in pain.  At least it’s over and done with now.  Happy birthday to my hubby!  But, I repeat, it’s over and done with now.

He was supposed to be able to remove the bandages today.  One (he has four in total) had peeled away under his t-shirt.  After a good look at it, it still looks a bit too ‘fresh’, so my first aid box came out so I could redress it.  That was the one that they had to open a bit more than they wanted too.  I said that we’ll try again later on this afternoon with two of the smaller wounds.  At least he can start to have a bit of fresh air hit the wounds to assist in the healing process.  As for the one I redressed, that just isn’t ready to be ‘naked’ yet.  The fourth is positioned in and just below his naval.  That’s the largest cut of all.  That won’t be ready to be uncovered for at least a few days, but I’ll have a look at that later too.

My hubby feels awful because he’s not been able to cuddle our 18-month old.  They said he would be ok to have our little man on his knee, but he us such a wriggler, and does tend to kick.  Playfully, of course.  But regardless, he feels guilty because he just can’t take the chance.

That all seems well and good, but what about this ‘nightmare’ I mentioned?

My little man isn’t well.

On Friday night, when my husband was in hospital, my beautiful baby boy woke up about 2:30am.  I thought it was his usual…  Wake up, cry, have a fight  with me to get him back to sleep…  But no.  This was something different.  It started off as the aforesaid, but then his breathing changed.  Next thing you know, he vomited all over the bed.  Obviously, because I didn’t expect it, I freaked out.  My little man…

He had seemed a bit off at dinner time, but I didn’t think too much about it because he can be a difficult eater.  He ate his supper with no problem, and was drinking normally, so I didn’t worry about it.

But he did.  When he was sick, he burst into tears and seemed to cower away from me.  I must have repeated “it doesn’t matter, baby” at least a hundred times, but he was still afraid.  I managed to strip the bed and get it in the wash, but instead of making the bed up again, I got the spare duvet and went into the living room to settle him on my recliner.

I’d just sat down when I decided to go and put the heating on…  Putting him on the floor, he began sobbing again.  When I got back into the living room, he looked at me with his beautiful, big, blue eyes and vomited again.  This time all over the carpet.  Three times…  I rushed him into the bathroom (we live in a bungalow), lifted the toilet seat and told him to spit (he’s just learned that after he brushes his teeth).  So the clean-up started again.  I decided to just change him into a vest this time in case it happened again.

By now it was about 4:45am.  I swept him up, lay him on my chest whilst in the recliner, covered us both with the duvet in the hope of getting at least an hours sleep.

To bring you up to date to now; he vomited on 5 occasions yesterday and had one bout of diarrhea.  Today he has had one horrific nappy first thing this morning, but he has had his breakfast and has managed to keep it down.  He has not vomited since 7pm last night.  Hopefully that was the last of it.  He’s still very docile today, but I would be too if I spent all day being poorly.

So, instead of me looking after my post surgery husband, I’m having to spend all my time nursing a once-rowdy, very poorly toddler.  Luckily enough that hubby can walk around and can make himself a drink…

There you go.  That’s been my last 48 hours.

The Waiting Game

For the past several years, my husband has been suffering with horrific pains around his stomach area.  There was one bout in January that he had it so bad that he actually said I needed to call an ambulance.  He’s never been one for hospitals, so I knew there was something really wrong.

At 3:05am, the ambulance came and took him away.  He ended up spending two nights in hospital.  However, it was a worrying, if not a positive result.  They had finally found the cause to his problems.  He had gall stones to the extent that they were becoming very troublesome, and he was told it could lead to future problems.  He had two options.  Medication for the rest of his life, or surgery to remove the gall bladder.

After a couple of hours of chatting, he decided that it would be best for surgery.  “Just to get it over and done with”, he said.

He’s in surgery today.  He was admitted at 7:30am this morning.  As far as I’m aware, he’s actually in surgery now.

We were told there’s a 97% chance that they can do the procedure via keyhole.  That means he may be able to come home either this evening or tomorrow morning.  If the procedure has to turn into the full open surgery, he’ll have a 20cm cut and will be in hospital for at least 5 days.  Fingers crossed it’s the keyhole.

I’m sure I’ll do an update soon.  Now it’s just the waiting game to find out when I can visit him…