I've had a lot of bad days in my lifetime, but April 10, 2013 wins the prize. I have never been so frightened. I'm still trying to get over it. For two weeks now, I have been a basket case. The tiniest bit of trouble sets me off crying. I feel as if I'm about to break. Or fall apart.
That morning, I woke my son with the usual amount of difficulty. He is really hard to rouse. And I thought SuperD was a hard sleeper! C wasn't moving much, wouldn't open his eyes, and didn't want to talk to me. That's typical. The more I tried, the more I realized that his blood sugar must be low. I made him get out of bed and go to the kitchen to check it. I figured it must be really low because he couldn't even check it by himself. It was as if he couldn't remember what to do. He kept trying to prick his finger with the test strip instead of the lancet. Sure enough, it was low, but only 71, which is not drastic. I gave him something to eat, thinking it must be truly lower than it registered. I left him in SuperD's care as I took A to school.
When I returned, C was moving at a snail's pace putting his clothes on. This, too, is typical because it takes a while for him to really wake up. Each time I passed his room, I urged him to kick it into high gear so we wouldn't be late for school. It became apparent to SuperD that there was something wrong as he watched C try to button his shirt. He was like an Altzheimer's patient who couldn't understand how to work a button. We checked his blood sugar again, and it had come up into the normal range.
We started asking him simple questions, like the hospital professionals do whenever someone is disoriented. He couldn't tell us his name, his age, his school, his teacher's name, or our names. It was terrifying. We decided to take him to the ER. I paused briefly to video him trying to answer these questions, just in case he recovered before we got there. I wanted the doctor to see what we had seen.
That morning, I woke my son with the usual amount of difficulty. He is really hard to rouse. And I thought SuperD was a hard sleeper! C wasn't moving much, wouldn't open his eyes, and didn't want to talk to me. That's typical. The more I tried, the more I realized that his blood sugar must be low. I made him get out of bed and go to the kitchen to check it. I figured it must be really low because he couldn't even check it by himself. It was as if he couldn't remember what to do. He kept trying to prick his finger with the test strip instead of the lancet. Sure enough, it was low, but only 71, which is not drastic. I gave him something to eat, thinking it must be truly lower than it registered. I left him in SuperD's care as I took A to school.
When I returned, C was moving at a snail's pace putting his clothes on. This, too, is typical because it takes a while for him to really wake up. Each time I passed his room, I urged him to kick it into high gear so we wouldn't be late for school. It became apparent to SuperD that there was something wrong as he watched C try to button his shirt. He was like an Altzheimer's patient who couldn't understand how to work a button. We checked his blood sugar again, and it had come up into the normal range.
We started asking him simple questions, like the hospital professionals do whenever someone is disoriented. He couldn't tell us his name, his age, his school, his teacher's name, or our names. It was terrifying. We decided to take him to the ER. I paused briefly to video him trying to answer these questions, just in case he recovered before we got there. I wanted the doctor to see what we had seen.
Both answers he attempted sounded nothing like what he should have said. It breaks my heart to see him so frustrated. The video turned out to be unnecessary because nothing had changed by the time he was admitted. The doctor ran a variety of tests, including blood work, urine, CT scan, and lumbar puncture. All of the tests came back normal. The doctor was stumped.
There are two things that stay with me from during the hours of waiting. When I asked C what his sister's name was, he couldn't tell me. But when I showed him her picture, he smiled and said her name. Also, he finally figured out what his name was, and any time someone asked him a question, his go-to answers were, "I don't know" and "I'm C." it was as if his name was the one thing he knew for certain, and he was clinging to it with all he had.
While waiting for the results of all the tests, C took a long nap. When he finally woke, his speech patterns were back to about 95% of normal. He was talking, hungry, and telling jokes. He was almost himself. It was still as if there were small holes in his brain function. Certain words were still lost to him. He mispronounced several things. But he answered every one of our questions that he had forgotten before.
We were discharged because they could do nothing else for C. Since that day, we have been back to the E.R. two times, had an overnight stay at the hospital, had an O.R. procedure, followed up with his pediatrician, had an EEG, seen a neurologist, and scheduled an MRI. It's been a long, tiring two weeks. And we may never have any answers as to what happened that day, which may be the scariest thing of all.
