Yes, I’ve been AWOL again. Things have not gone to plan, so the hilarity of the Vietnamese overnight trains will have to wait (it is quite funny I promise.)
In the meanwhile, I’ve had another shocking week.
When our gorgeous George got out of ICU I thought we were on the road to recovery. It wasn’t to be. He went back to school and last week we narrowly avoided a call to the ambulance as his oxygen levels dropped. Not that I’m adverse to the ambulance per se, but it does mean an inevitable ride and likely admission to hospital. We weren’t so lucky this week.
I got the call from school and drove over. I remembered to hang on to my car keys this time, the memory of being in this same situation with our Jazzy-angel is still burning with embarrassment. On that occasion, she was in danger of having a significant seizure on top of low oxygen, so the MICA (Mobile Intensive Care Ambulance) attendant was also requested. These are the guys who are called by the ambulance crew to give them a hand in more fragile situations. Our man arrives, is briefed, jumps on board and we’re ready to go. The plan is that I’ll follow as I need to bring my car and her wheelchair for the minute we’re allowed to leave – but I can’t find my fucking car keys!!!!
George isn’t looking great. His oxygen is not being sustained without support and his temperature is hotter than a February heat wave. We agree to call the ambulance.
I head off as they're loading George, calling a friend on the way to collect the little one from school, and arrive at the emergency room. An ambulance arrives. “Excuse me, I think my son’s in there,” I say, pointing. “Come through”, the kind woman says. He’s not in it.
The next ambulance arrives. He’s not in that either. Two more arrive and I start to think they’ve gone to the wrong hospital. Finally, he arrives. “I’m so sorry,” the driver tells me as I ask which way they came, “I’m missed the turn off – I’ve never done that before!” She’s clearly horrified. It doesn’t matter – he’s here!
We transfer him from the gurney and unbelievably, he’s even hotter. To touch it feels like he's about to self combust. We get into the resuscitation area and within a short amount of time he’s improved dramatically. Never the less, a chest infection is diagnosed and he’s admitted for IV anti-biotics and physio. "A couple of days?" I ask hopefully. “Probably a bit longer," says the doctor, managing my expectations.
He’s been sleeping so badly at home and my other half is away – on a surfing trip no less! – that I freely admit, here and now that a small part of me was a little bit relieved. I was now going to get to lie down myself. My brother had come down from Dubai for a few days and was an enormous help but had left a few days prior. So many people in fact, offered their help – it’s truly overwhelming. But at 4am on a sleeplessness night, there’s really no one you’re going to call, regardless of your desperation.
It’s now been days and he’s still in. He’s had a multitude of tests and is quite well, but aspiration has been identified as the key culprit (that’s swallowing food into your lungs – which can cause not only choking, but infection.) We’re just sorting through that now. My other half arrived back at 1.30am and is at the hospital now. So hopefully this week, things will finally start to get back to normal. I bloody well hope so!