East Coast Trip: Part Two

I left off with John in the Southampton Hospital.

Let me back it up to 2am Saturday morning. John wakes up with wrenching pain in his abdomen. Pain so horrible that he can't get back to sleep and can't find a single comfortable position. Naturally, he thinks it's because he has overeaten (which he has) and that it will pass. Finally, about 9am, John asks me to take him to the hospital because the pain is just getting worse. And when my husband, John J. Durso, is insisting on going to the hospital, you just take him to the damn hospital.

So I left the boys with all of their doting relatives and drove off with John. In Long Island, where I've never driven. Driving a rental car I'm not supposed to be driving. Totally panicked by my husband being in such intense pain. Oh, and pregnant/hormonal to boot. That was probably a good recipe for disaster right there, but by some miracle, we arrived at Southampton Hospital having made only a few wrong turns (GPS coverage is a little patchy in places) and John was ushered into the ER in a wheelchair, convinced he was going to die of stomach pain.

Eventually, he was dosed with some morphine and something else a little stronger and he was able to relax a little bit. The rest of the morning and early afternoon was spent getting a CAT scan, an X-Ray and just passing the time.

Finally, we got a diagnosis of a partial bowel obstruction (a diagnosis John's aunt and uncle [renowned physicians] concurred with). Now, unless you've actually experienced a bowel obstruction or have seen someone suffering from one, it sounds kind of... innocuous. "Oh? You mean you just haven't crapped in a while? Wow. Can't you just, like, take some Metamucil for that?" I now kind of understand what John went through while I was in labor with Hank. Only labor contractions actually let up every now and then while the bowel obstruction pressure and pain just multiply with time.

Yes, I just compared John's pain to labor. It was that awful.

And thus began John's four-day stay in Southampton Hospital, soaking up all of the "hospital"ity they had to offer (who says you can't find humor in these situations?). Oh yeah, I forgot to mention that after his diagnosis came through, they shoved a large tube up his nose and down his esophagus (twice, because the first tube was the wrong size) into his stomach to drain the contents and relieve the pressure on top of the obstruction. I know. It "sucked". (I just can't stop.) But you know what was worse? It was in there for THREE FREAKING DAYS. He had to talk with it, sleep with it, eat the occasional ice chip with it (he wasn't allowed to eat for obvious reasons) and if he wanted to use the bathroom or walk the ward, he had to get a nurse to unhook his tube from suction so he could walk around.

People, it was no walk in the park.

In the meantime, while he was getting better, we had to cancel our tickets for our flight home that Monday. Luckily, though, my mother-in-law and father-in-law were able to stay so we could take turns watching the boys and keeping John company. I can't imagine what a misery it would have been if they weren't there. Dealing with two small children in an unfamiliar place with a hospitalized husband by myself? I might have returned to San Diego needing a lobotomy. 

On Tuesday, John was allowed to eat clear fluids like broth, Jell-O, lemon ice, etc and when he kept that down, he moved on to harder-to-digest foods like oatmeal and an egg burrito. He was released Wednesday morning and the boys and I picked him up at the hospital. The boys were ECSTATIC to have their Daddy back.

John's dad was able to make some reservations for a flight that night at 7pm, so we packed up and got the hell out of Dodge. Or Hampton Bays. Whatevs. We got out of there and headed to Newark with smiles on our faces.

The rest is pretty normal. We got to the airport, lugged our stuff around, got on a flight and flew home. The boys did well on the flight, sleeping most of the way because it was pretty late their time (we landed at 1am East Coast time) and were so excited to play with their toys when we got home. Of course, John and I were rather dismayed at their exuberance to play with ALL THE TOYS at midnight, but eventually exhaustion won out and we were all able to get some sleep.

And that's the entirety of our trip. Lots of fun with family and friends, delicious food, some great memories, and then a four-day hospital stay. We certainly know how to hit all the bases on a vacation.

Sick week

We've been sick for something like eight years. And our house has been like those leper colonies that existed in medieval times; no one enters and no one leaves, but if someone comes too close, they take one look at the inhabitants and jump back involuntarily.

Maybe that was over dramatic.

We have been hit hard with a really bad cold and, thus, have been stuck in the house for nearly a week. Hank got hit with it really hard, which leads us to a kind of funny story. Not really funny in a "OMG that's stand-up worthy comedy", but more of a "Yeah, sometimes that's how things go when you're a parent" kind of funny.

I shall warn you now, there are bodily fluids contained in this story... please skip down until you see pictures if you're squeamish.

Consider yourself warned.

Ahem. The boys had been a little sick on Tuesday, but not alarmingly so, considering they were still getting over colds they had contracted a couple of weeks prior. But when Hank woke up Wednesday morning, he had a fever. Not a bad one, he was just warmer and fussier than usual. He wasn't up to eating much, but then Johnny really wasn't either, so I just chalked it up to cold symptoms. After all, eating with a stuffy nose and a sore throat is certainly not a good time.

Well, even though the boys were obviously getting sick with a new cold, I had to leave the house. I had just used the last wet wipe and was perilously close to being out of diapers for Johnny (he refuses to use cloth). So, we went to Target, that beacon of all things necessary and delightfully unnecessary. In order to get Johnny in the car, however, I had to promise him that we would get hot dogs afterward at Costco since I had to go there, too. Our Target trip passed without incident (except for two young boys running rampant through the store... in different directions).

We got to Costco, picked up a couple of hot dogs for the boys and sat down to eat those hot, grease-laden treats. Hank and Johnny sat on the other side of the table, downing every piece of cooled hot dog I put in front of them. They took down a hot dog and half of the other before they were sated. And then they wanted to throw away the trash. So I sat and tore up pieces of napkin for them to throw away, while chatting with the nice older man next to me.

And then I hear it.

Johnny's laughter ringing out through the eating area. Not like a little laugh, it was full-on belly laughing, nearly maniacal. So I turn around with a big smile on my face to see what he's laughing at... and see Johnny lying on the concrete rolling around with laughter while Hank is vomiting up pieces of hot dog. In the middle of the thoroughfare.

So I grabbed a whole bunch of napkins to clean up Hank (and catch the vomit still coming up) and Johnny continued laughing. The whole time. I clean up the area and book it to the van so that I can get my little sickie home, but I realize that I didn't get any red juice, which is what I promised to get for Hank since he was sick. Which is how we ended up in Trader Joe's, looking around for a suitable "red juice" while Johnny is laughing hysterically in the cart saying, "Hank puked up the hot dog!" and then laughing some more, while other shoppers were trying hard to laugh themselves because Johnny's laugh really is quite contagious.

After that initial vomiting session, we stayed home, where Hank's fever got worse and he wouldn't keep any food down, so we ended up at the doctor, who prescribed an inhaler. He also gave me a prescription for an antibiotic, but said I shouldn't cash it in unless Hank didn't get better. He finally turned the corner on Saturday and is now recovering.

But we're still like a leper colony since we can't leave the house since we're sick... something that's hard to explain to a 3 year old.

Fevery toddler just wants to go back to bed. But not enough to actually go back to bed.

All he wanted for me to hold him.

This is his "Why can't we go to the park?!?!?!" face.

Napping on the couch like a boss.

Yesterday we made an outing to the grocery store. It was a huge deal since we hadn't been out of the house since the Costco incident.

The Case of the Exploding Diaper

The title sounds like a Nancy Drew book, does it not? Okay, maybe Nancy Drew: the Mom Years.

For whatever reason, Johnny's nighttime diaper has been exploding. I don't mean that when I pick him up, there's a cascade of urine escaping his diaper, I mean there's an explosion that occurs sometime in the wee hours of the morning and leaves this lovely mess:

In case you can't see the mess clearly in the picture above, it is composed of large quantities of urine-bloated crystals. Not just in that one spot, oh no! That would be much too easy to clean up. These wet crystals stick to EVERYTHING. Johnny's sheets, his stuffed animal Scout, Blankie, the crib, the wall behind the crib, Johnny's extremities, Johnny's hair, my clothing, etc, etc. And then for days afterward I feel them on my feet when I walk into Johnny's room... which means I walk around with urine on my feet for a few days. Now, I know I'm a mom and I'm supposed to be into that, but it's so not my cup of tea.

Anyway. Johnny's already in the largest size overnight diapers and they have been fine up until now. He is drinking more water because it's rather hot these days, but you would think he would also be sweating some of that out... weird. I'm not exactly sure what I should do about the nighttime diaper situation, so if y'all have any ideas, I'd love to hear them!

Teeth?

I had thought that the time for bibs was past, with the exception of mealtimes, of course. Turns out I was wrong. Do you see the amazing amount of drool going on here?!

Usually drool like this means that teeth are on their way in... but he's been drooling like this for AT LEAST two months. There are teeth there and they're close to the surface, but not ready to poke through yet. Well, at least it keeps him cool in this hot weather.

Quarantine

The movie "Outbreak" could be taking place at our house. Well, cut out the monkey, Patrick Dempsey and the blood exiting from all possible orifices and then it's a little closer to our lives. Johnny and I have been sick all week long and wow, is that a misery! Being sick really does suck, especially when your little one is dealing with it, too. But being sick and pregnant and cut off from all of those awesome drugs that make life with a cold liveable? Hell. Especially whenever I open the medicine cabinet to get a new box of Kleenex and those boxes of cold & flu medicine are just laughing at me. Bitches.

Anyway! Back to our regular programming: Johnny and I have been sick and thus, cut off from the rest of the world. No playdates, no Gymboree, no walks since Mommy can't breathe, no visiting Grandma Durso since she'll be seeing newborn cousin Jack next week, no visiting anyone we like due to possible contagion... so we've been spending a lot of time at the park in the open air. Where Johnny's sneezes and coughs merely transmit viruses into the air and human-less space around him.

I was going to post a few of the pictures I've taken this week... but I don't think I will. I took lots of pictures of him this week with massive amounts of snot running down face and I decided not to publish them because they're disgusting. Yes, his mother, queen of pee, poop and puke would rather not introduce you all to Johnny's Niagara Falls of a nose. You're welcome.

In the meantime, here are some pictures I took awhile back of Johnny after he consumed massive amounts of Eggplant Parmigiana. Way cuter than snot, promise.

Let's talk about poop.

*WARNING: This post is not for the squeamish or faint of heart. Bodily functions are described herein and are NOT pretty.*

Now that you've been properly warned, it's time for a poop story. I feel that I've done a pretty good job keeping this blog cute and fuzzy with lots of adorable pictures of Johnny and you know what? It's time to shake that up. And what better way to shake things up than with too much information?

Before bedtime, Johnny's routine pretty much goes like this: bath, crawl around nursery naked, diaper and pajamas, say night-night to various objects outside, nurse, hum two lullabies while being held in the dark, into the crib with his blankie. Can you guess which part of that routine went awry? Yes, the crawling around naked part. Surprise, surprise. Usually, he will just explore his room babbling like crazy while trying to pull down the blinds or the curtains, pull things out of drawers, close his hands in said drawers, etc, etc. Well, this time, he was standing up using the small table I have next to the glider when he got that look. Yes, THAT look. I looked around for anything to catch the end result of THAT look and found his towel from bath time. I shoved the towel underneath him just in time to receive a shockingly large, adult-looking poop. Had I not seen it come out of my little 10-month-old with my own eyes (and believe me, I was RIGHT THERE) I would not have believed he produced it.

After Johnny had finished his bowel movement, I was patting myself on the back for being so quick-witted in picking up the towel and preventing any stains from marring our carpet. I picked Johnny up to move him to the changing table and before I knew it, he had a hold on the soiled towel and was flinging it forward and backward. And yes, we ended up with a nice scattering of poop on the previously-un-poop-stained carpet.

So what did I do next? I called John upstairs and he busted out some latex gloves and a scooper to clean up the mess for me. You can also thank him for telling me not to take a picture of said mess, because I was so ready to run downstairs and grab the camera.

Ah, parenthood. Who knew that such an episode would bring John and me ever closer in our relationship? If you had told me four years ago that poop would someday be part of the glue that held me and my spouse together, I would have said "bullshit"... Oh yes, pun intended.