CHOCalkers

My family is participating in the CHOC walk this weekend.

The CHOC walk benefits Children's Hospital of Orange County and all of the babies and children who desperately need care.

This cause is very near and dear to our heart. Why? Because CHOC saved my son's life. I don't mean that figuratively. They literally saved my son's life.

You see, when Boyo was five weeks old, he caught a cold. This would not have been a big deal for an adult, or for his 18 month old sister, who gave him the cold. But for a five week old baby, with a delicate respiratory system, it's a very big deal.

He started throwing up on January 10, 2009, his one month birthday. He was vomiting so copiously that he was struggling to breathe. My husband called the hospital advice line and was told that if Boyo developed a fever or the vomiting continued to bring him to the ER. I spent the night in the rocking chair, holding my son, praying for this to pass.

The next morning, he developed a fever of 102. I loaded him into the car and took him to the ER. I still remember what I said to my husband as we left: "It's probably nothing serious, but I'm going to take him to the ER anyway. Because with our luck, if I don't take him to the ER, it will be serious and if I do take him to the ER, it won't be. I'm sure the doctor is going to dismiss me as a nervous mother and send us home. We'll be back in an hour."

I didn't come home for three days.

At the ER, they checked my son's vitals in triage. They couldn't get his respiratory stats... when they finally got them, he registered 64. He should have been over 90. The nurse looked concerned, mumbled "That can't be right," and checked them again. His respiratory stats registered 76.

Everything happened very fast then. The nurse scooped up my son and ran to the back examining room. The doctor was in the room before we were. Now, those of you who have ever visited an ER know that it takes forever to see the doctor. The fact that the doctor beat us to the examination room made me realize that this was very, VERY serious.

The medical team basically shoved me into a corner, hooked my son up to oxygen, and began running tests. Blood work to test for meningitis. Chest xrays for pneumonia. I was questioned repeatedly as to my son's habits the week prior. My husband showed up, and the questioning started again. Through it all, we had to hold an adult oxygen mask to our son's face. He was so tiny that the mask covered his entire face.

Eventually, they told us that our son had RSV and pneumonia and since the hospital we were at did not have pediatric facilities to deal with these types of illnesses, they were going to transfer us to CHOC.

The CHOC ambulance showed up with a nurse and a respiratory therapist. We hadn't even made it out of the driveway when the nurse came up to the driver and me in the front seat.

"We need lights and sirens," she told the driver before she turned to me. She put her hand on my arm and I held my breath. I knew that this was going to be bad.

"I don't want you to worry, but your son stopped breathing for a little bit."

My blood turned to ice. She said something about a mask and oxygen, how it wasn't a big deal and they would intibate, but I'm fuzzy on those details. I spent the entire trip to the hospital peering into the back of the ambulance, staring at my baby while the respiratory therapist said things like, "It's okay. He's breathing now. He's fine." I didn't realize he was talking to me until two days later.

At CHOC, we were rushed to PICU. Five nurses and two doctors met my husband and I at the door. A doctor took my husband and I outside to ask us questions while they intibated my baby. I prowled the hallway, trying peer into my son's room to see what was going on. When we were finally let back inside, my son was on a ventilator.

He was on the ventilator for five days. We couldn't hold him, and it was impossible to find a part of his body to touch that was not covered in wires, tubes, or tape. When he came off of the ventilator, he still had an oxygen tube. We couldn't pick him up; the nurses had to pick him up and place him in our arms and then put him on the bed when were done holding him. And we couldn't hold him for longer than 10 minutes at a time - they didn't want too many people to handle him, for fear that he would have a relapse. I am still furious with myself that I was not the first person to hold him when he got off of the ventilator - I had taken my daughter down to the cafeteria and my husband was in the room.

Through it all, the nurses and doctors were compassionate and informative. The nurses especially were kind, understanding, and strong. They were the ones who reminded us to sleep and eat. A nurse even arranged for me to get a breast pump - I had completely forgotten that I was breast feeding. They brought my son toys and blankets. They changed his diapers and fed him. They kept him sedated so he wouldn't pull out the tubes and wires. They gave him pain medication so he wouldn't hurt. They talked to us and listened. One nurse gave me a hug and let me cry on her shoulder. They answered all of our questions, and when we forgot the answers, they answered them again. When family members came to help out, the nurses answered all of their questions too. They gave our daughter a toy and some crayons so she wouldn't feel left out. They kept telling us, "He's going to be fine. This is the easy part - you should go home and sleep, because when he goes home, the hard part is going to start."

Our son left CHOC January 19, 2009. He was healthy and whole and unbelievably pissed off at the entire situation. He screamed the entire way home and then for the next two days - making up for lost time, I think.

Because of the nurses and doctors at CHOC, my son has gone from this:

to this:

So we are walking this Sunday to give back and to raise awareness. If you want to donate to this worthy and wonderful cause, you can do so here.
My family and I thank you.