Julie Asks – Am I an Adult Yet?

For those of you anxiously awaiting an update, here goes.  (Please bear in mind that in the past 72 hours I have: had a total of 5 hours of sleep, spent 23 hours at the hospital, eaten little more than apples, graham crackers and saltines, and watched my son and husband – yup, the story gets better – be poked, prodded, MRI-ed, CT Scanned,  EKG-ed, Eco Cardiogrammed, drugged and examined by better than 15 different doctors, nurses, residents, medical students and, I think, a few janitors.

After learning that it was not meningitis or mono, I got a call at 4am from Rich, sounding surprisingly awake and alert, that Harrison had been admitted.  They were leaning toward an esophogeal tear (not a break, as I had earlier mispoken) but still needed to due further testing and assessing.  They were in a room, things were stable and Rich was going to hunker down for the night in the convertible chair.  I went back to a fitful sleep for the few hours before the alarm went off and then planned on making Georgie’s morning as normal as possible.  I explained Rich and Harrison’s absence by telling him that they had gone to an early meeting.  (Thankfully Georgie is only six so it didn’t appear to strike him odd that a 13 year old would have an early morning meeting).  I was just about to get dressed when the phone rang.  Out of habit I checked the caller ID (like I get a lot of calls at 6:45 in the morning) and saw that it was Harrison’s cell.  The conversation went like this:

Me: Hi, Har, how are you feeling?

Harrison: A little better.  Daddy’s in the ER.

Me: Daddy’s where?

Harrison: Vertigo.

Are you friggin’ kidding me?!?!?

With all hopes of a normal morning for Georgie officially out the window, I quickly got him some breakfast and pushed him out the front door with instructions to head next door for a special trip to school with the girls.  

I dashed (I’ve never used that word in spoken form, but would like to someday) to the hospital faced with a biblical decision – who do I go to see first?  There were good arguments for both destinations – the ER or the PEDI ward.  (hmmm…what would you have done??) – on the one hand I knew that Harrison was “stable” but he is my baby and he, since Rich’s dramatic departure, was all alone.  On the other hand, I had no idea how Rich was doing and what was happening with him.  Mama bear took over and I hit the button for the 6th floor (which, fyi, was not the ER).

Over the course of the next 17 straight hours they would both be put through a battery of tests.  Rich’s case seemed, from the get go, to be pretty straightforward vertigo.  They pumped him up with Meclizine, Ativan and Zofran which left him, well, stoned.  (When discussing my situation with the ER doc she told me to stay with my son and vowed to tell Rich I had never left his side, he was just too drugged up to remember).  Harrison’s situation, however, proved a bit more perplexing.  After all was said and done it was concluded that he has several “blebs”.  Yes, that is a real medical term and no, it is not rooted in Yiddish.  It is basically small blisters on his lungs, one of which had the audacity to burst thereby letting air into his chest, back and neck.  Unlike a gas bubble in your stomach (which we all know can sneak it’s way out), it has nowhere to go and hurt him like hell.  Not only that, and this is the best part, there is not a damned thing that can be done about it.  And, it can happen again.

The good news is that he is home how (but no school until Monday), his neck no longer looks like a pumped up townie’s and he is starting to feel more like himself.  In fact, he is already bugging me about taking a ride to Best Buy for a “get well” gift.

Rich is still a little “hungover” but muddling through.

Georgie has been shipped off for a special mid week sleepover at Nana’s.

Julie is exhausted.  And stressed.  And impressed with herself for actually being able to form a sentence.

And it’s only Tuesday.