It’s been a busy few days.
I’ll get right to the good news: Eli’s coming home today.
His belly blew up like a balloon the day after his operation, worrying Mark and I to no end. Especially when a doctor looked at it, uttered “This is worrisome,” and then flew out of the room. Then he spiked a fever.
His balloon belly and the doctor’s on-the-run assessment stressed me out enough that I resorted to sarcastic, passive aggressive loud talking to let her know how I felt, though she was no where within ear shot. Ha! That’ll show her!
In that doctor’s defense, she had run off to order an X-ray and make calls to his surgery team.
It turns out Eli was just puffy from air and fluids he’d been given. His fever went away on its own pretty quickly and without antibiotics.
The last time I wrote Eli was moaning in pain. He hasn’t needed any painkillers since the third day after his surgery. Days 1 and 2 afterward were the worst.
On day 4 I got what every mommy wants for her son: the ability for him to take a big ‘ol poo the old fashioned way.
He at first pooed the most vile crud. It’s algae green and looks something one might expect to find at the bottom of a swamp next to Chernobyl.
Dr. Tuggle said that was just bile. And the gobbily gook nuclear disaster look of it all had to do with his gut waking up and learning how to process it the right way. I guess the gut takes a nap when you mess with it during a surgery.
Once he cleared that out it’s back to standard breastmilk poo. A little yellow and runny, though still tinged green in his case.
Wow, aren’t you so happy you read this blog so you can get such detailed accounting of my son’s bowel actions?
I haven’t had any time to write because buddy’s been a little high maintenance. Can you blame him? Poor little man.
Any time I get a second or he falls asleep, someone walks into the room to talk to me. A doctor, a surgery resident, the insurance specialist, a nursing student with a questionnaire, etc. etc. Half the time I get a loud talker who wakes him up. Then it’s time for Eli to eat, or be held, or do a little lung therapy, etc. etc., or for me to update relatives, or my phone rings, or I’m starving and have to go root around for food.
In about an hour Eli is going to have his central line taken out at the bedside.
He’d been eating IV nutrition but we started him on milk yesterday. I kept pushing them to let me feed him normally because he was acting like he was starving.
That went well until I got overzealous and he threw up twice in the middle of the night.
Sorry, bud. Mommy was just trying to fatten you.
As long as I don’t give him too much, though, he’s tolerating his meals enough that they feel comfortable sending him home today.
I’m beyond ready to get out of this joint. I’ve been living at the hospital with him for the last four days, sleeping in all kinds of loungers and on uncomfy surfaces and eating crappy food and drinking crappy coffee.
But I still love my coffee, even if it does taste like mud.