Well Here We Are
From Kate:
Friday Getty started to have thicker secretions. As I suctioned her I noticed a little tooth popping out. I thought to myself, well now I understand the thicker secretions. Her HR went up that night as well and I chalked that up to pain she may be feeling due to the tooth. I gave her some rounds of Tylonel then Motrin and all seemed pretty good. I massaged her cute little tooth in the hopes that maybe it would stop hurting her and continue on right by her other cute bottom teeth.
So how did we get to the PICU this morning at 12am? Good question. Sunday was rough. HR was still not baseline, but it wasn’t alarming. Secretions were still a little thicker than usual but nothing crazy. We took good precautions to keep her airway clear. Lots of Breathing exercises to keep her lungs clear.
And while we are on the subject of lungs never once did they ever sound rattly. I checked them every hour like I did her temperature. Clear as a whistle. So nothing was really alarming. And then Sunday came.
Getty’s HR was still higher, her temp still fine, but her oxygen levels started to slowly drop. We increased her breathing exercises but still her O2 was lower. She had been on bi-pap 24/7 since Friday and so we were really surprised with the decrease. It got so low that we bled oxygen in to give her a break.
By lunchtime Mark and I decided that if she couldn’t hold 95% O2 levels with oxygen then we would bring her in. So we waited and waited until Sunday night. Getty was so incredibly tired. Her nap was not good and we were hoping that a good night sleep would give her some rest and give us some time to scramble and make plans if we had to bring her in.
11pm Sunday night it was time. We originally thought we should just call the ambulance, but the more we thought about it, we knew she could handle the trip and too be honest we know our little lady. We didn’t want some strangers getting their hands on her if it wasn’t necessary. Now if it were a complete emergency and Getty’s care was completely beyond our scope of care, then yes at some point relinquishing control may have to happen a bit, but not this.
We made the trip to Kaiser Roseville, got to the ER and let them evaluate her for a bit until we were taken to the PICU. Ironically enough we walked the same hallways as we did when Getty got her surgery for her g-tube and Nissen. It felt a little different. Then I knew what she was being treated for but this time we had no idea and that was very scary.
We go to the room and we made ourselves comfortable. The idea at first was to give her an IV. Give her some nutrients and then make some decisions. Getty had a chest x-ray around the same time. We meet all of the nurses and all was good. Then one of the nurses came in to inform us that the doctor on call looked at the x-ray and thought it was pneumonia in her right lung. My entire body felt a current of electricity. I thought I was going to pass out and I also felt sick to my stomach.
The nurse left and then we just kind of sat there. Okay so now what? What does that mean exactly? It was just very quiet for awhile.
Intensiveist came on call and told us what he thought. Basically what he thinks is happening is that the right lung has slight collapse. He didn’t seem overly concerned about it. When I hear collapse I think of men that stick dynamite under a building and the whole thing comes down. So I thought of Getty’s entire lung collapsing. He explained that a medicated nebulizer should open the airway and essentially pop it back open. She will also be prescribed a steroid to combat the inflammation. Getty will also be using a vibrating vest that will help knock loose all of the yuckies. Lots of breathing exercises which include cough assist, suction, nebulizer and percuss. So we are going to try that and see what happens. He didn’t totally rule out pneumonia, so they have started her on an antibiotic to treat it if it actually is pneumonia. She was swabbed for twice and should hear back to see if she is viral. So stay tuned, we will be constantly updating.
While Getty’s parents were calmly freaking out. She was her usual spunky self. She was very tired, but she was still in good spirits and always a constant teacher to Mark and I. When I asked the doctor how could we have known earlier that this was what was going on? I was waiting for a temperature increase for my signal. He said, “well I think you can only do the best you can, and I think you guys did great.” that felt good.
Let me also say for the record, there is a phrase that EVERYBODY so far has used since we have gotten here. And it is music to our ears. “You guys know her best, let us learn from you.” Wow really? Awesome.
That certainly was not the case last time, so I am not going question it, just say thank you. 🙂
So here are. Getty is sleeping soundly. A belly full of food and some powerful antibiotics. A round of breathing treatments will be coming in an hour.
I know many people have been saying prayer send sending good vibes. Please keep them coming. We so appreciate it and need it, thank you. And before I go I wanted to show you a picture we took of Getty right after she fell asleep in the PICU. Mark left briefly because we had forgotten a couple of things. He opened the bag and I was so touched that he remembered Getty’s pink comb. I can’t wait until she wakes up to see her friend by her side and she can say thank you daddy! 🙂
Write more later.
27
Jun
2011
19 Comments
Jun
2011
19 Comments
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Thank you for the update. I can only imagine how scared you are, but you guys DO know her best and knew it was time to get help. Hang in there.
Sending many prayers and healing vibes to your beautiful Getty. She is such a trooper! Feel better soon, little one. 🙂
Wish Getty the best, prayers are with her and you guys. Take care! Jenny
Sending tremendous positive, healing thoughts to your beautiful little owl.
Prayers are going up for you all, stay strong!
Thank you for the update and the sweet picture. Thinking of you guys and sending lot’s of thoughts, prayers and HOOTs!
Praying that all goes well and Getty is soon home with you. I don’t know if you have seen this – but it does seem to describe you and your husband and the journey you are on.
Some Mothers Get Babies with Something More by Lori Borgman (author)
SOME MOTHERS GET BABIES WITH SOMETHING MORE… My friend is expecting her first child. People keep asking what she wants. She smiles demurely, shakes her head and gives the answer mothers have given throughout the ages of time. She says it doesn’t matter whether it’s a boy or a girl. She just wants it to have ten fingers and ten toes. Of course, that’s what she says. That’s what mothers have always said. Mothers lie. Truth be told, every mother wants a whole lot more. Every mother wants a perfectly healthy baby with a round head, rosebud lips, button nose, beautiful eyes and satin skin. Every mother wants a baby so gorgeous that people will pity the Gerber baby for being flat-out ugly. Every mother wants a baby that will roll over, sit up and take those first steps right on schedule. Every mother wants a baby that can see, hear, run, jump and fire neurons by the billions. She wants a kid that can smack the ball out of the park and do toe points that are the envy of the entire ballet class. Call it greed if you want, but we mothers want what we want. Some mothers get babies with something more. Some mothers get babies with conditions they can’t pronounce, a spine that didn’t fuse, a missing chromosome or a palette that didn’t close. Most of those mothers can remember the time, the place, the shoes they were wearing and the color of the walls in the small, suffocating room where the doctor uttered the words that took their breath away. It felt like recess in the fourth grade when you didn’t see the kick ball coming and it knocked the wind clean out of you. Some mothers leave the hospital with a healthy bundle, then, months, even years later, take him in for a routine visit, or schedule her for a well check, and crash head first into a brick wall as they bear the brunt of devastating news. It can’t be possible! That doesn’t run in our family. Can this really be happening in our lifetime? I am a woman who watches the Olympics for the sheer thrill of seeing finely sculpted bodies. It’s not a lust thing; it’s a wondrous thing. The athletes appear as specimens without flaw – rippling muscles with nary an ounce of flab or fat, virtual powerhouses of strength with lungs and limbs working in perfect harmony. Then the athlete walks over to a tote bag, rustles through the contents and pulls out an inhaler. As I’ve told my own kids, be it on the way to physical therapy after a third knee surgery, or on a trip home from an echo cardiogram, there’s no such thing as a perfect body. Everybody will bear something at some time or another. Maybe the affliction will be apparent to curious eyes, or maybe it will be unseen, quietly treated with trips to the doctor, medication or surgery. The health problems our children have experienced have been minimal and manageable, so I watch with keen interest and great admiration the mothers of children with serious disabilities, and wonder how they do it. Frankly, sometimes you mothers scare me. How you lift that child in and out of a wheelchair 20 times a day. How you monitor tests, track medications, regulate diet and serve as the gatekeeper to a hundred specialists yammering in your ear. I wonder how you endure the praise and the platitudes, well-intentioned souls explaining how God is at work when you’ve occasionally questioned if God is on strike. I even wonder how you endure schmaltzy pieces like this one saluting you, painting you as hero and saint, when you know you’re ordinary. You snap, you bark, you bite. You didn’t volunteer for this. You didn’t jump up and down in the motherhood line yelling, “Choose me, God! Choose me! I’ve got what it takes.” You’re a woman who doesn’t have time to step back and put things in perspective, so, please, let me do it for you. From where I sit, you’re way ahead of the pack. You’ve developed the strength of a draft horse while holding onto the delicacy of a daffodil. You have a heart that melts like chocolate in a glove box in July, carefully counter-balanced against the stubbornness of an Ozark mule. You can be warm and tender one minute, and when circumstances require intense and aggressive the next. You are the mother, advocate and protector of a child with a disability. You’re a neighbor, a friend, a stranger I pass at the mall. You’re the woman I sit next to at church, my cousin and my sister-in-law. You’re a woman who wanted ten fingers and ten toes, and got something more. You’re a wonder.
Keeping all of you in my thoughts and prayers.
thinking of you all. Love the pink comb.
I am so sorry to hear that Getty is in the hospital. I will be praying for answers and a quick healing time!
LOTS & LOTS OF POSITIVE ENERGY COMING YOUR WAY ~ WE ARE THINKING OF ALL OF YOU….AND KNOW GETTY AND HER PRETTY PINK COMB WIL BE HOME SOON! GETTY DEFINITELY DID “CHOOSE THE BEST OF THE BEST PARENTS” ~ LOVE ALL OF YOU…..
We are praying for Miss Getty!! Please let me know if you need anything. We’ve been there with Ben many times. ((HUGS))
I am so sorry to hear about Getty. I will be sure to keep her and your family in our prayers.
Thank you everyone for the generous support and love. It has been a difficult day and knowing people are reading feels terrific. Thank you for taking the time.
Thinking of you all and checking in frequently, hoping for good news.
Jessup is praying for you Miss Getty 🙂 Love you so so much little lady <3
Poor Miss Getty, hospitals are no fun! Hope she kicks this thing hard and fast and can get back home and take it easy!
Thinking of you Miss Getty! Get well soon!!
Praying that Getty makes a complete recovery really soon!! (((HUGS))))