My little trooper.

I would love to put up a post of all the fun we had this past weekend, but truth is, we didn't have any.  Far from it. 

Saturday, Isabelle started to complain that her tummy hurt.  Since the girls like to walk the fine line bordering hypochondria (don't all kids?), we didn't think much of it until we went to have lunch at McAlisters and she begged us to go home before we ever got our food.  We tried Pepto and later some baby laxative, thinking maybe it was just an upset stomach or constipation, but nothing helped.  By late afternoon, I was concerned enough to call the medical exchange to talk to a nurse, who told me since it had been going on all day that we should go to the ER.

I debated taking her to an after-hours clinic instead, but finally chose the ER because I figured we'd end up there if they needed to do any kind of testing.  She started running a fever while we were waiting to be triaged, and the poor thing was walking like a little old lady and needed me to help her out of her chair. 


Passing the time reading a crochet pattern... we were bored.

They ruled out a UTI fairly quickly and were concerned that it was her appendix, so she had to get an IV and a CT scan.  She pretty much made everyone's night at the ER because you could tell they totally dreaded the idea of doing anything to her that might upset her, but she took everything in stride, never complaining, and you could just see the relief on their faces. 


She didn't even flinch.

They gave her morphine and I expected her to be flying high or drop off to sleep, but you couldn't tell she had anything, other than she didn't complain about her tummy anymore.  I had never had a CT before, so I was nervous for her.  She didn't mind it at all, even being in there all alone (they had me stand in the "control room.")


Her stickers for being so good.

The CT was pretty inconclusive - in fact, they didn't even see her appendix at all.  They offered to send us home, but recommended that we stay for observation, so we did.

The doctor the next morning told us that she wanted to have the surgeon on call check Iz out since they couldn't rule out appendicitis.  And that freaked me out.  When my little sister was 13, she had exploratory surgery for almost the same situation.  But the surgeon didn't think it was her appendix, so I was relieved of that worry. 

We almost got to go home Sunday night, but then her tummy was hurting again and they gave her more morphine and told us to sit tight for another night.

It was noon on Monday before we saw the doctor again and Isabelle was feeling much better.   She had been dragging her little IV pole all over the room, getting mad at me over everything, and we were both really anxious to just get out of there.  The doctor poked and prodded without Izzy indicating that anything hurt, so we got to go home. 

It's somewhat frustrating that we don't know what was going on.  In fact, by Sunday evening I was having to make myself think about how she was walking around hunched over in pain, or else I was getting really aggravated thinking that all this was total overkill.  Monday morning, when she was obviously better, it was hard not to be annoyed at the fact that I hadn't showered or even brushed my teeth since Saturday morning, but I was glad that they took everything so seriously.  And you know, even though it wasn't something dire or extremely scary, seeing your kid in a hospital bed is so stressful.  I had to hide in the bathroom a couple of times so she couldn't see just how stressful it was.  She was such a trooper.  She wanted to go home and she wanted that thing out of her arm, but she didn't really get upset about any of it until the very end. 

I was really touched by all the concern and prayers from friends and family.  My phone died Saturday night, so my sister kept people up to date on facebook.  My parents drove an hour just to see how Isabelle was since they couldn't reach me on my phone.  It was especially touching to see a couple of my friends that I had kind of been shutting out step up and be there for me.  That meant an awful lot.  My sister also helped watch the other two girls so Bill could come see Isabelle and go to work and thankfully wasn't upset that her poor dogs were neglected for about 24 hours (I was supposed to be feeding them and letting them out while she was out of town) .  And my husband was great, of course.  The house wasn't a disaster when I got home and he had gone grocery shopping.  My only wish was that he had called before coming up to the hospital.  I would have given an arm or leg for a toothbrush, my crochet bag, and a book.  I felt pretty helpless at the hospital... I couldn't leave the room, of course, so I had to depend on other people.  I'm just not one to easily depend on people.  It was nice to know that no one was going to let me down.

Isabelle has been just fine all evening... in fact, I think she was trying to make up for two whole days of not being a bully, because she was a little difficult.  Hopefully a good night's sleep in her own bed will help her dial back it down to normal levels.  =)