It is funny how some things seem so simple to you, but you realize that given certain circumstances they can be devastating. I had a virus run through my floor last week with the gifts of nausea, vomiting, fevers, and diarrhea distributed in various combinations to my children. It was something that in the very early stages I didn't think that much of. At home, if the child is healthy and older a little virus stinks, but isn't that big a deal in the long run. Here my children are most all under the age of 4, and my floor personally only has one or two over the age of 2. The children that are here are also not in perfect health to begin with. They are here because of some sort of condition or disability. Some of them are stable, but some of them the slightest illness has the possibility of putting them over the edge. It was so hard to walk from room to room and hear how so many of my babies were getting sick, and there is so little you can do for them with a virus. Mostly you must just let it run it's course. That was tough, but what was worse was seeing first hand how devastating the effect could be. I have one little boy who has always been sturdy and healthy, and after a day and a half of diarrhea I walked into the room and found him white as a sheet without the strength to move his arms or even more than flutter his eyelids. I had been checking on the rooms frequently through out the day, but it was still a shock. This little boy I held and played with and never had to worry about, I might lose. Dr. Steve instantly decided to do fluids for him, and after dozens of tries with his tiny dehydrated veins we were able to get an IV in. I cannot tell you how long that night was praying I would find him improved in the morning and that I wouldn't lose my baby. That wasn't the only night like that either. He didn't improve for 4 days. He was one I had thought was safe, but one little virus almost took him. When the virus finally eased a little and he started having hours between episodes I was ecstatic! When we took him off of the IV I might have jumped up and down telling Kelsie about it. When I held him this morning with him this morning as his smiling usual self I almost cried. To hold him in my arms after being so worried I wouldn't be able to was a miracle that brought me more joy than most anything has.
Right in the early stages of the virus I received a new baby to my floor with a very complicated heart condition we were told was inoperable. We are planning to do some more searching into it to see if there are any other options, but as it stands there is really no hope for my slightly blue, but terribly sweet baby boy. I had made sure to hold him and spend as much time with him as I could and to take pictures, just in case I wouldn't have the chance. This dear child caught the virus a day or two after getting here. We eventually admitted him to the hospital since the risk was too great to try and balance everything as perfectly as it would have to be to keep him alive. He is still there, and he will remain in my thoughts and prayers until he comes home. We won't hear a word until he does or he passes on. I am desperately hoping he comes home to me. If he has to go I want to know that he isn't alone and can be held and loved. I was able to hold him on the way to the hospital and all the way until the nurse took him from my arms and behind the door in the back.
There was more child of a very serious note who caught this virus, but for him it only troubled him a couple of hours. He had started having fevers in the early am. I checked him on my rounds and found him a little feverish, but content. I walked into the next room and not 10 minutes later was rushed back to find him only able to take in small gasps of air. I took him to the treatment room and got him on oxygen and Dr. Steve there, but there was really nothing that could be done for him. His whole body had just shut down. His eyes stopped blinking or reacting, his limbs were cold, and breathing had simply became something that was too much to ask for. Dr. Steve gave him to me to hold throughout the last of his time while they checked on the other children. Holding and praying for this child he really on took a few more breaths, each farther and farther apart. Finally he just didn't take another. I could still feel his heart beating for a time before that too stopped. I always thought that you would know instantly when someone passed away, books and movies seem to make it seem that way,but you don't unless you have a monitor to give you an exact instance. It is a gradual process. Each part of their body dies a little on its own. The whole process took only maybe 15 or 20 minutes. He was ready to go. It was his time. A cliche phrase, but something that feels innately appropriate in some, very sad way. He was always a simple child who was never able to manage to do too much. He had a sweet smile he would send you if you tickled him, and he might try to grab your hand, but that was about all he could manage. His development never really took off as it should. He missed many of those hurdles and was never quite able to try and catch up. Dr. Steve believes he had some sort of syndrome we were unable to diagnose from here. He had a couple side issues, but they were probably more symptoms of the overlying condition than anything. I can not help but know he was one of those children put on this earth with only a short time to live and any time we had was a blessing. I pray where ever he is he is as happy and content as he was to sit in his little bouncer or to be cuddled by the ayi.
Overall it made for a long, hard, difficult week. Now when I walk into the rooms and have the ayis tell me there are no problems and see my babies playing, or have them running to me yelling mama and all trying to fit into my lap I can not help but feel like there is nothing I would trade in the entire world.
He is about to kiss the iPad.
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