Paco yelled from his room on Friday night, “I think I am going to throw up.”
And he did. 5 times.
No fever, not even huge amounts of vomit. He’d had a large, atypical amount of sugary/junk foods that day (pre-Passover cleanout), so we chalked it up to that.
All day Saturday, he was in good spirits. We kept him on a bland diet, but he seemed fine.
Until 11:50pm Saturday night.
He started complaining that his tummy hurt and we quickly surmised that it was a different type of pain.
Jokinen is a pretty stoic kid, but even he said “I need to go to the doctor.”
I’m much more relaxed about medical care than the NFO, but I said, “I’m going to take him to the ER.”
Usually, it’s the other way around.
So, I took him.
The boy was in a lot of pain and after about 90 minutes or so, the staff at Holy Cross said it was appendicitis.
He was then transferred in an ambulance (he’d had an IV inserted by this point) to Children’s Hospital which is where we are right now (yes, I have my laptop, phone, and iPad—all of which I grabbed before coming).
We’re supposed to have a confirmation by 9am or so from the radiologists here about the diagnosis and then the surgeons will supposedly determine an appropriate course of action (if it’s indeed an appendicits/appendectomy).
We were supposed to go to Chicago on Monday for Passover, but that’s not going to happen.
Disappointed?
Of course, but this is just what happens in life and I think it’s just important to remember that when these types of things happen.
It’s been a long night so far and coffee is surprisingly difficult to come by in the Emergency Room (but I’ve managed to persuade some nurses to smuggle some in for me).
In these moments, I’m usually pretty controlled emotionally, figuring that it won’t help the situation, but there was something about seeing Maximum writhing in pain on the floor and on the bed that made me well up with tears.
Tough, but it’s part of the job.
More to come….
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