Unfortunately, two nights ago Vinny was not keeping more than two sips of water down.
Our pediatrician prescribed an anti-nausea medicine. We gave him a dose that night, and one yesterday at 6 a. m. He didn't vomit after that, but his pain was worse. And the pain had moved from his navel area down to to the lower right region of his abdomen .
The exact area where the pediatrician said to "call immediately" if the pain moved there.
I rang her cell, "Make him get up and go pee, and before that, have him jump up and down," she instructs.
"Vinny get up, " I say. "I need you to jump up and down."
"I can't," says Vinny.
I put the pediatrician on speaker phone, and somehow, magically, he listened to her. Must have been her Pediatric Super Powers.
"Ow," he shouts. "It hurts!"
He hardly jumped. In fact, his feet barely left the ground.
"You need to get him to the emergency room," orders The Pediatrician.
And she was right. An ultrasound was performed in ER and the ER Doc swiftly recommended, "a laparoscopic appendectomy, " based on the fact, the imaging showed a fecalith, hard stone of fecal matter, in the appendix. And by fecal matter, I mean, there was rock poo creating a blockage in Vinny's appendix. Another important note is, a fecalith can lead to appendicitis.
"Or you could do a CT scan?" offers the Emergency Room Doctor. "But that's a lot of radiation, when it seems obvious he needs his appendix taken out."
Easy for him to say. I felt light headed and flushed when I heard the ER doc's words of an impending surgery.
"Put your head between your legs," commands The Nurse. "You'll feel better."
Once I recover from Surgical News Today I ask, "He had a CT scan of his appendix about a year ago, could you please look at that, again?"
After a bit of haggling the ER doc agreed. And by haggling, I mean I had to nicely ask him to look at the previous CT scan three times.
"The scan, in June of 2009, showed a fecalith, as well, " says ER Doc coming back into the room ten minutes later.
Aha!
Though at that time, the ER Doc (a different one) told us his scan was normal and Vinny was good to go. To suddenly learn our son was most likely having recurring Appendicitis was all we needed to make the decision
for surgery. Especially since, this episode was by far, the most severe and painful for Vinny.
The docs all thought, based on the CT scan, this was not the first time Vinny had grappled with Appendicitis, and he would likely have more recurring bouts.
His pediatrician, who joined us at the hospital, bless her heart, felt it was, "text book appendicitis." And the surgeon agreed with her, "I don't care what the ultrasound says, he has appendicitis."
Once inside Vinny's abdomen, during the operations, their suspicions were confirmed.
"It was acute appendicitis," says the surgeon post surgery. "There was an abscess.
The surgeon also said he discovered scar tissue on the appendix, indicating a prior Appendicitis episode.
Mind boggling.
Phew, we made the right decision. And we could not have done that without the constant support guidance, and hand holding of Vinny's pediatrician. She explained everything that was going to happen to Vinny in terms that he, and we, could understand. Thank goodness for angels.
Overall, we had an awesome team beginning with our pediatrician, to the ER doc to the nurses, to the surgeon.
And we have an awesome son. He was amazing through the whole thing. They poked him four times to get his IV in because he was dehydrated, and not once did he flinch. I'm not sure how he handled it. I would have been crying, at the very least.
The only indication Vinny ever gave of discomfort was anytime a nurse or doctor touched his abdomen, his eyes grew big as saucers. Though when asked his level of pain from one to ten his answer was, "nine."
And prior to going in for the actual surgery he said he was, "a bit nervous."
To which his Pediatrician comforted him with some wise words, "It's normal to be nervous, but your doctors are not."
He must get his bravery from his Dad. I'm not that brave, especially when it comes to hospitals.
Today: Post Appendectomy:
He's doing well today. He's eaten a piece of bread, some bites of rice and turkey. He's drinking water and he's drank some broth and Pedialyte.
However, he can't move without a lot of pain. He scoots along slowly, like a little old man, with my assistance, only getting up to go to the restroom.
"This is the worst day of my life," Vinny says.
"Shiza," he moans, when I move too fast.
"I'm going to let that slide, since you're feeling miserable," I say.
Seems like the pain is punishment enough. After all, he isn't just my son, he's human.
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