scary day

First let me start by saying that Bethany is now okay.

Yesterday Bethany was acting a little strange - hand in her mouth all morning, felt a little warm, being a picky eater. We chalked it up to teething and possibly a growth spurt (we both thought she looked taller). So we gave her some tylenol for it. She slept restlessly all night and this morning had a rather large BM. So then we thought, maybe her tummy just didn't feel good. And maybe she was holding it in all night (she's been going on the potty). After going potty she really perked up. Which made us think it was a tummy ache.

When Bethany got up from her nap this afternoon still feeling pretty warm I took her temperature and it was 102.3 degrees. I immediately called the pediatrician thinking I didn't want this to go through the weekend. I took her to Nathan who took her to the doctor (I went to teach). Now here's Nathan for the next events...

I took over the reigns of the car and drove off to the pediatrician's office. On the way, we had typical father-daughter car ride banter. Checked in about 5 minutes late for the appointment (hey, we're Woleks). I proceeded to sit on the "well child side" of the waiting room because I didn't notice the sign. After a minute, I realized my mistake and guided B over to the "sick child side".

Time goes by and she seems fine. Hot, but fine. She was pointing out animals on the wall and naming them. "Zee-ba...Pan-da...Lie...E-phant." We read some books. Folks tell me they are impessed by her speech ability. At this point there is another couple on our side with 3 kids. They hear others talking about what our kids have and start to look concerned. Apparently, they got the signs wrong too (I felt really bad for them since the woman was carrying 3 month old). B played with another girl and her big brother. She really opened to them, until the girl started beating on her brother for taking away a toy. That got her a little freaked and she hurried back to Dada.

At this point I am actually thinking to myself, this is great. I will have neat adventures to tell Amy about. Usually it's her telling me what B did while they were out. I did not know what was coming.

We are called back after waiting for 45 minutes. B waves "bye-bye" to everybody. The nurse shows us into a room and take her temp again. She tries to put this thing on her head, but B is not having it. Nurse tries to put it on B's hand, but she ain't buying it. Switch strategies: 101.5 degrees under the arm with a less new-fangled device. She tells me to take her shirt off and the doctor will be in shortly.

Well she has a onesie on. This means I have to completely undress her to get the top off. Just when I finish, she asks to get down. I oblige and she proceeds to start marching (this is very big right now). She marchs around the room in her diaper and points out the animals on the wall for a few minutes. I finally decide this is no way for my daughter to be acting when her doc arrives and put her pants back on (hey, a little dignity) and sit her back on the table.

Doctor Bell comes in and immediately she is suspicious. She is polite, gives him a high 5, but the second he busts out the stethascope the crying starts. "DA-DA!!" Checks her breathing, ears, throat. Asks all those doctor questions and the redness in her throat coupled with the fever leads to a diagnosis of a throat infection. Perscription: antibiotics. Tells me we did the right thing getting her in before the weekend, watch the fever, take the medicine.

On the way out he asks where to call in the perscription. I tell him Walgreens and he suggests that I not go directly there because they take a while. I look at my watch and it is now almost 5pm. I think fine, I'll head back to my office and we can wait for Mama to finish teaching at 5:30pm, go get the medicine, maybe dinner out and then to home.

Get to my office and chat with my colleague Matt in the parking lot for a bit. B is fine, acts shy around him (nothing new), and walks around picking up rocks, pointing at the orange safety cone, etc. We head inside when it starts to sprinkle and Matt says he needs to hurry off (he drives a Vespa, so weather is not good for riding).

Inside, I set her up with her markers and crayons. I try to get her to drink some water, but she won't (she'e been doing this all day). So I figure I'll give her a snack and maybe that will force the issue. Yogurt-covered raisens, yum. She chomps on a few and then asks about the electric piano. I turn it on for her and proceeds to plunk on the keys. She was dividing her attention between these three things (markers/raisens/piano) and so I decide it is now safe to resume the work I had been doing before heading to the doctor.

I remember she was behind me standing at the piano. I heard an odd moan. "uhnn." I turned around to see her slowly fall to the floor. She didn't look like she hit anything and it was almost like her play fall when we sing Ring around the Rosey. Except afterward she wasn't moving/laughing/anything. Eyes wide open, staring into space.

"Bethany?" Nothing. "Bethany are you alright?" Still no response.

Everything from this point seemed like forever. I bent onto the floor at picked her up, repeating her name over and over. Eyes open, blank look. Checked her mouth, not choking. Listened and heard her breathing. Her neck felt stiff. Slowly she moved to look up at the flourescent light in my office. I turned her eyes to meet mine. I stared right into her eyes and there wasn't any recognition. She would slowly turn...no scratch that. Her head would slowly turn away. At this point, I could feel there was no Bethany responding to me.

We repeated this several times (head turn, turn back, head turn...) and all the while I am talking louder and louder. "Bethany you have to talk to me. Bethany. Hey you. Talk to me. Where's Dada? Peekaboo. Bethany. Bethany you have to talk to me..."

I don't know how long it was, but I thought to myself that she was gone. Someone had just flipped a switch and my bright, sweet, wonderful, precious girl was gone. That thought, that moment lasted forever and I hope I never have to go back there.

I left that thought finally and I called Amy at 5:16p. I was beside myself on the phone and was essentially calling to ask Amy if she thought I should call 911 or go to the hospital myself. More than anything I was scared to strap her in the back seat in this state and drive when I was a wreck and not be able to hold her, watch her, comfort her. I barely got a description out ("she's not talking...she collapsed and now she's catatonic") and Amy said go to the emergency room now. I didn't wait to ellaborate because I took that as my answer.

On the way out to the car, I continued to try to talk her out of it. "How about ABCs? Can you say them? ABCDEFGHI? No? What about counting? Can you count for Dada? 1. 2. 3." Something in this ritual that we have shared many times pulled her out. As I rushed to the car I heard a very laboured, "2....3....."

"That's right. Then what." She started moving again. She acted as if I had just gotten her up in the middle of the night and it was no where near time to get up. As she started to repond more and more, she seemed to become aware that something very strange had just happened. During the car ride to the hospital, I tried kept her talking. This was difficult because of the mixture of fear and grogginess that had overtaken her.

Getting out of the car, I tried to act like all was normal for her sake. She clung to me so hard. Talked to the nurse and she could probably hear in my voice that she had better not send me to the waiting area. I filled out one sheet of paper and she walked us into an examing room. I explained it all to her: How we went from doctor's office to catatonic in the span of an hour and even though she may seem better now this is not normal for her. She was scared and nervous and tired. She was not too concerned as the nurse prodded her in a manner very similar to Dr. Bell. Temp taken rectally: 104.4. This is after the incident, so I would have to assumed it had already peaked by then.

Amy arrived. They got some Motrin in her. I filled out the paperwork and she was admitted. Within a hour she was old self. Bubbly, talkative, playful, muching on snacks, impressing the nurses. The doctor diagnosed it as febrile siezure. Although scary for the parent, it is virtually harmless for the child. (Did he say "scary"?! Try frightening, terrifying, traumatic!!!) It is caused by an intensely rising fever. I'd say 3 degrees in less than an hour qualifies.

More meds and tests and samples. She started getting sleepy and since her temp had come down, the doctor sent us on our way and we out of there by 7:20pm. We have our routine to follow over the next 24 hours, and have to observe her closely. We had to get her meds and a late dinner, but after all this she was very tired and in bed by 9pm.

I have to go back to my office tomorrow. Everything is in disarray there and I don't remember if I turned out the light. B and I will go together, probably more to help me get past the memory than her. We'll pick up the pieces and move on.

I also can't help but draw comparisons to the day she was born. The day they shuttled her into the NICU and explained that she had fluid in her lungs. She held my finger, she looked in my eyes and I told her, "You have to breathe, baby girl."

Today I lost it more than I did that day. Then I was calm, today was panic. Then I knew she would make it, today not so sure. But I held her close and let her know I was there and tried to bring her back to me.

She's my bright, sweet, wonderful, precious girl and I don't know what I would do without her.