Sunday, 20 December 2009
Same Old Scene
It seemed like Dylan's previous set of grommets, installed just a few months ago, have fallen off a while ago. The result was that over the last two months Dylan has had three ear infections and has consumed lots of antibiotics. During his inspection, the specialist identified water Dylan's ear drums, so the sentence was made: Dylan would have his fourth grommet operation on Friday.
The operation went along smoothly, as smooth as an operation on a two year old can go given that you can't really reason with him or have him expect what's coming. So far so good...
Trouble started late that evening after we put Dylan to his night time sleep. He kept on coughing more and more, until - at about midnight - it seemed like the only way to get him to sleep would be to have him in our bed with us after a couple of rounds of Ventolin.
At about 4AM Dylan woke up startled. He was trying to breathe but was obviously unable to take in as much air as he wanted, which caused him to panic, which caused him to try and breathe even more rapidly, which escalated the panic in a positive feedback kind of a way. We tried Ventolin again but it didn't help and Dylan was in too much of a panic to really gain much of it, so after a few minutes we called 000 (the Aussie equivalent of 911) and within minutes the ambulance was at our door.
The hospital identified Dylan with croup, which is a virus infection affecting the voice box' area. The inflammation causes breathing problems not unlike asthma, hence the similar symptoms, but the regular asthma treatment of Ventolin won't help it. We were discharged within a few hours. Overall, a positive hospital experience, but why do hospitals have to be so depressing, especially the public ones? We all need their services at the most crucial of times, and some further investment to improve their general atmosphere would go a long way in helping rehabilitation. Or are the powers that be afraid that people would like them too much?
There was one funny scene at the hospital. The doctor was trying to stir Dylan into a conversation in order to assess him by asking him about the nationality of his mother, but that didn't get him too far conversation wise. Me, I was very proud to father a two year old that knows the planets of our solar system but doesn't have the faintest idea about the concept of nationality. Our Dylan is truly a child of the world!
Coming home, all of us were tired and Dylan was obviously still very much sick, but it was all manageable. The main thing that annoyed me was the collection of relatives saying "oh, thank god". Thank god for what? For giving an innocent baby the privilege of badly designed ear canals that make him miserable, force him to take operations under full anesthetic twice a year, and then weaken him enough to catch every wandering virus? What a fucked up god this must be.
The next day, today, was much better, although one can never tell what's coming up next and when the next emergency call would be. At the supermarket we got Dylan a toy croquet set with which he had a bit of fun:
Don't be fooled by the easy going appearance. We are living on the edge: seconds after I stopped shooting the video Dylan fell down and bruised his leg, aided by his overall weakness. And tonight already looks like it's party time.