A wise mom I know recently told me, "Parenting is not for the weak."
Having a newborn is challenging and not for the weak. I imagine that having a toddler, a second grader, and a teenager is challenging, too. Newborns are challenging because they are... new. They are new to the concept of night and day, a new personality in the home of new parents, new to eating, new to lights, and sounds, and routines (Ok, I haven't really introduced this concept of "routine" to Clay. Don't worry, Eric, we'll get there eventually.), new to wearing clothes and taking baths, new to giant straps that confine him while riding in a car. It's all so new.
Sometimes when I feel overwhelmed by all that is new in my life, I remember that for Clay, the adjustment is far greater (though, in many ways, he seems to handle it much better than me).
One such example is the new concept of a baby, my baby, being sick. Clay handled this concept much better than I did. In the early morning on November 5 (the first day of Clay's second month of life), Clay spiked a 101.5 degree fever. I had had the same fever the two days prior, so I assumed his cold would run its course like mine had.
Because he was only 8 weeks old, we called the nurse line and I figured they'd advise Tylenol and rest.
"From what you are describing, my suggestion is you take your son to the Emergency Room."
Come again? Parenting is not for the weak.
The middle of the night drive to the ER was scary. Luckily Eric and I had practiced the drive not too long ago, thinking we might need it when I went into labor. We never needed to make that frenzied drive (I went straight from the doctor's office), but the practice came in handy when we made the drive that night. While at the ER, my sweet boy was poked and rearranged and cold and it broke my heart. They determined he probably had the same virus I had and told us to follow up with our pediatrician that afternoon.
So we came home, napped, and went back to the pediatrician. I expected this visit was a formality.
Our pediatrician, in a strange turn of events on the day after Clay was born, accepted Clay as a patient, though we later found out she very rarely takes new patients and she is a bit of a celebrity doctor because she's THAT good.
When she came into the exam room, she told us she had reviewed the tests run at the ER that morning and they all came back fine. But then she looked at Clay (didn't even really examine him, just looked at him from her chair), listened to his whimper, left the room for a few minutes to talk with fellow doctors, came back into the room, and she said:
"I know this sounds crazy because all of his tests are clear, but I think he needs to be admitted into the hospital. And when you get there, he needs a spinal tap."
Come again? Parenting is not for the weak.
So we made the drive to the hospital for the second time that day. The poor girl who admitted us and walked us up to the pediatric ward tried her best to make it not awkward that I was walking down the hall, Clay cradled in my arms, and tears streaming down my cheeks.
The testing began. Eric and I sat in Clay's hospital room, outfitted with a very institutional crib, cabin-like decor, and machines galore, and listened to our little guy crying his heart out three doors down in the procedure room. They tested him for everything possible, put him on IV antibiotics (they decided to treat him for the worst, just in case), and finally brought him back to us. After a few hours, the doctor came in to say Clay's spinal fluid had a white count some forty times what is normal.
So we knew it was meningitis. For the next three days, we waited to see what the cultures would grow. They grew nothing, thank God. The meningitis was viral, not bacterial (a huge relief). We later found out that his particular strain of meningitis is, for some unknown reason, prevalent in central Minnesota. They sent us home with a bruised, tired baby with a spinal headache, but a recovering baby.
Parenting is not for the weak. I am thankful that Clay's fight was good inspiration to be strong. (Though I was, on more than the aforementioned occasion, that woman in the hospital halls who was carrying an iced latte spiked with tears.)
Having a newborn is challenging and not for the weak. I imagine that having a toddler, a second grader, and a teenager is challenging, too. Newborns are challenging because they are... new. They are new to the concept of night and day, a new personality in the home of new parents, new to eating, new to lights, and sounds, and routines (Ok, I haven't really introduced this concept of "routine" to Clay. Don't worry, Eric, we'll get there eventually.), new to wearing clothes and taking baths, new to giant straps that confine him while riding in a car. It's all so new.
Sometimes when I feel overwhelmed by all that is new in my life, I remember that for Clay, the adjustment is far greater (though, in many ways, he seems to handle it much better than me).
One such example is the new concept of a baby, my baby, being sick. Clay handled this concept much better than I did. In the early morning on November 5 (the first day of Clay's second month of life), Clay spiked a 101.5 degree fever. I had had the same fever the two days prior, so I assumed his cold would run its course like mine had.
Because he was only 8 weeks old, we called the nurse line and I figured they'd advise Tylenol and rest.
"From what you are describing, my suggestion is you take your son to the Emergency Room."
Come again? Parenting is not for the weak.
The middle of the night drive to the ER was scary. Luckily Eric and I had practiced the drive not too long ago, thinking we might need it when I went into labor. We never needed to make that frenzied drive (I went straight from the doctor's office), but the practice came in handy when we made the drive that night. While at the ER, my sweet boy was poked and rearranged and cold and it broke my heart. They determined he probably had the same virus I had and told us to follow up with our pediatrician that afternoon.
So we came home, napped, and went back to the pediatrician. I expected this visit was a formality.
Our pediatrician, in a strange turn of events on the day after Clay was born, accepted Clay as a patient, though we later found out she very rarely takes new patients and she is a bit of a celebrity doctor because she's THAT good.
When she came into the exam room, she told us she had reviewed the tests run at the ER that morning and they all came back fine. But then she looked at Clay (didn't even really examine him, just looked at him from her chair), listened to his whimper, left the room for a few minutes to talk with fellow doctors, came back into the room, and she said:
"I know this sounds crazy because all of his tests are clear, but I think he needs to be admitted into the hospital. And when you get there, he needs a spinal tap."
Come again? Parenting is not for the weak.
So we made the drive to the hospital for the second time that day. The poor girl who admitted us and walked us up to the pediatric ward tried her best to make it not awkward that I was walking down the hall, Clay cradled in my arms, and tears streaming down my cheeks.
The testing began. Eric and I sat in Clay's hospital room, outfitted with a very institutional crib, cabin-like decor, and machines galore, and listened to our little guy crying his heart out three doors down in the procedure room. They tested him for everything possible, put him on IV antibiotics (they decided to treat him for the worst, just in case), and finally brought him back to us. After a few hours, the doctor came in to say Clay's spinal fluid had a white count some forty times what is normal.
So we knew it was meningitis. For the next three days, we waited to see what the cultures would grow. They grew nothing, thank God. The meningitis was viral, not bacterial (a huge relief). We later found out that his particular strain of meningitis is, for some unknown reason, prevalent in central Minnesota. They sent us home with a bruised, tired baby with a spinal headache, but a recovering baby.
Parenting is not for the weak. I am thankful that Clay's fight was good inspiration to be strong. (Though I was, on more than the aforementioned occasion, that woman in the hospital halls who was carrying an iced latte spiked with tears.)