After my son's ER visit I didn't think much of the previous Dr's misdiagnosis. I felt like the bullet was dodged, and at least now we had answers and medicine. But after the antibiotic injections at the ER, and strong prescription, and round the clock breathing treatments we were seeing no change in our tiny two-year old.
His fever was as strong as ever, so I called back to the ER. Our discharge instructions said to, and I no longer trusted the Dr's office to steer us the right way. I called the ER around the same time (two days later) we had been there, maybe subconsciously hoping to get answers from those who had treated us. My prayers were answered, when upon explaining the situation to the nurse, she gave a high pitched breath and said, "Oh! The doctor wants to talk to you." So the phone was handed to the ER doc (never had that happen before!) and within seconds of my explanation of symptoms, he said we've got to admit him now. This was followed by a little mumbling by the Dr. about how he knew he needed admitted. I felt very strong that there was so much orchestrating of the saving of my son between these medical professionals, myself, and mostly what can't be seen.
On my (again lone) drive back to the ER with my fevered and struggling toddler I put in a message to my parents to let them know we were checking in. Not sure why, I just needed someone in the universe to know how real and surreal and scary and necessary and weird! this situation was. It was pre-dawn. I knew they were asleep. But I wanted someone to know.
(to be continued...)