Part Three

I find it a little difficult to tip toe around this one. Every birth story has it's good and it's not so good points. I promise to use as much discretion as possible around this next topic.

Robbie was so little, however the doctor could not understand why, because when he measured my stomach before delivery, I measured up. We would soon come to know why. When I had an abruption in the first trimester, blood had begun to coagulate and attach itself firmly to the side of the uterus. A thrombus of conciderable size was growing at the same rate as would a baby growing in the womb. Therefore, when the doctor measured each week, when he assumed he was measuring only the baby, he was measuring both the baby and the large thrombus. Had I have delivered in the beginning of the 20th century, I would have bled to death. Sometimes, when I see the pain that Robbie goes through, I wish I had.

I will only go on to say it took 2 shots directly in my thighs of oxytocin, and an interveinous drip of pitocin, uterine massage and the physical removal of the placenta to resolve this situation. The doctor was amazed at the size of the placenta. Completely intact, was almost exactly half the size of a normal one.

Robbie was "lucky to have survived."

Survive, he did. I have never seen such an intense drive to live.

Robbie has a lengthy medical record thus far in his short life. When we brought him home, it was to a house where two cats had also been living. There was carpet in the livingroom, the stairway, the hallway and in all the bedrooms in the house. This I never thought this would eventually be a major problem for our dear son's life. Robbie had several trips to the doctor about many things. Hunches, really. Something's wrong- but I don't know what.

"I think he might have exceedingly narrow nose passages?"

"Why is he such a loud breather?"

"Why do you think he has difficulty looking to the left?"

"Does the shape of his head look funny to you?"

These are among the many questions I had.

"The majority of babies wheeze to some extent" was the typical answer I would get.

Then IT happened.

A moment in time that changed everything. It was the day before Robbie was to be christened at my dad's church. Robbie wouldn't stop coughing and wheezing, literally gasping for breath. I went to the doctor, all of my family, friends, anyone who would help me understand what was going on with our baby.

"Does he seem ill to you?"

"Does that sound normal?"

"What's going on with my son?"

Not to come down on my family or friends, (although the doctor should have picked up on something) most just said "he's fine, don't worry it's probably just a cold."

Anyone who is reading this and is a mother, you just know when something is wrong.

Never deny your 'mother's instinct'.

I felt alone, somewhat betrayed, slipped through the cracks of the medical society.

Does anyone care about Robbie?!

So I did it.

All alone, I said "enough is enough!!" and I took him to the hospital at 5am after hearing him cough all night.

Again, God was the driving force behind the decision to take him to the hospital. I felt that I had to sneak off in the night, as to not draw attention to the fact that I was just a 'worried mother'.

God was in that hospital room with us that terrible morning.

The medical staff at the hospital didn't really know what to make of Robbie, or where to start testing. They started with blood and worked their way around. Xray of his chest revealed that he had something like pneumonia, bronchiolitis. Inflammation of the bronchiolles or alvioli. It was at that time they thought to check the level of oxygen in his blood.

It was 84%. 'Not that bad' I thought, or at least until everyone in the room stopped and looked up at each other. Intuition again, told me something wasn't right. I burst into tears, mostly scared, but mad, really angry it had come to this.

Why didn't anyone listen to me?

Robbie and I were taken to the nearest pediatric hospital by ambulance. "Code 4." Lights and sirens. Robbie had to have oxygen on him at all times. If the O2 mask was taken away from his face, all his levels (stats.) would drop.

I still didn't really know what was going on, so I asked the paramedic to show me the medical files, but neither she nor I could really understand what was written.

Robbie was admitted for 4 days, given prednisone, and was released only when he could go a whole night without needing to be given O2.

Almost 2 weeks later, we went through an identical situation. Emergency room in the middle of the night, taken to the same hospital, stayed for 3 days.

It was at this point, however, that the doctor suggested that Robbie could have Asthma.

He also noted the strange way that our son held his head, and how flat it was on the one side. "I'll arrange to have you see a physiotherapist for that, he'll need to have that fixed, or he'll hate you for the rest of his life." he said in a joking manner.

I was given videos, pamphlets, books, and anything that had to do with asthma.

Upon discharge, the doctor asked me if anyone in the family smoked. I instantly felt like I needed to plead my case. Never EVER in the house, in the cars, or anywhere around him!!! Yes, however, I smoke. He began to tell me that it is in my hair and on my clothes, and that I may as well be smoking while holding the baby. Guilt, remorse, anger, and fear that this was all my fault hit me harder than anything I had ever felt. Was this all my fault?

I am proud to say that from that moment to this, I have not picked up another cigarette.

We were instructed to 'clean house'. Get rid of as many 'triggers' as humanly possible.

First however, where can we stay while we learn how to administer this new medication and learn how to treat this confusing disease? Where can we stay while we change the things that need changing in our home?

To be Continued
Love, Barbara

For insight into this question you can visit Dawsonwood blog spot. We are briefly mentioned in a few blogs there. Inlaws and Outlaws, I believe is the name of one of them.