Now, we eat lots of chicken at home and it’s never been a problem, but in restaurants where they fry/bread/season differently, there’s some indication he is reacting to cooking oils or some such thing.
At the time of text #1 he was waiting for it to resolve and didn’t need me to come to the ER. I wisely kept the iPhone in my hot little hands and sure enough, an hour later, another text. They need to ‘scope’ him, which requires putting him out, and the search for a resident GI-specialist still on site commenced.
I joined rush hour traffic and made the half hour drive in a half hour, a minor miracle in these parts. I found Kevin sitting on the end of the movable bed, holding what looked like a, um, how can I say this (me being a romance writer ‘n all, so lemme just spit it out so you can chuckle, blush or do whatever you’re gonna do)… It was blue, it was long and plastic.
It looked exactly like a long, blue condom for a horse…
Anyway, once I digested that visual, I realized le son looked like death warmed over.
As an aside, you do not realize how much saliva you generate until your body decides ‘it shall not pass’. Ergo, it collects atop the obstruction and everywhere else and it’s got to go somewhere or you can drown in the damn stuff, ergo the condom, um, the catchment device.
We had a nice open view of the admin area so there was no lack of entertainment for the hour or so we waited. Once an expert had been located and Kevin queued for the next scoping, they moved us closer in to the action.
Then, as they say, shit got real.
The nurse arrived with needles, several of them, tape, tubing, bottles of stuff and a boatload of determination. She needed it.
Kevin had just done an endurance ride so he was dehydrated to begin with. The obstruction and saliva spewing wasn’t helping matters. Long story short, his veins were collapsing and there was way more probing and poking than even I was comfortable with (and I give shots to the horses all the time). Le son is not a happy camper when it comes to sharp objects.
That’s when he went into convulsions. I’ve never actually seen eyeballs roll up in someone’s head before so it was disconcerting to watch my son losing it. The nurse finally found a vein while I muttered the classic ‘stay with me’ over and over and mopped his brow.
I must say, I like the new approach to letting relatives stay with the patient. It gave me something to do other than just sit and worry. Instead, I could participate in the drama and really learn about panic and how to talk myself into staying cool.
Two or three doctors came in, had a quick look, then they wheeled him out. After forevah, the internist came in to show me the pics and to give me instructions on follow up dietary restrictions. I got a pat on the head and an admonishment to make sure le son made the appointment to come in for the follow-up.
And yes, that bit of chicken was huge!
After that followed several days of recuperation: from an incredibly sore throat from intubation and instruments fishing out the offending blockage, the usual bad reaction to general anesthesia and the recurring problems from dehydration. No, it wasn’t fun.
My challenge: find foods that were soft and palatable and nutritious enough to sustain us, because, dadgumit, I wasn’t going to eat regular when le son was on a baby diet.
Let’s just say, the blender is now my best friend.
Post-follow up: more scoping and then allergy tests are scheduled for next month.
And I will make it official…
I hate Jell-O.