On his 10th day with us J and I headed to a nearby mall to have coffee with a friend and do some
shopping. It was a Saturday and before our friend arrived J and I quickly
ran to a shop to pick up shoes for his eldest brother in the house. I had a
pair of sandals in my hand when J made a noise I had not heard him make
before. It sounded like a weird burp/hiccup which I now understand was an
attack of his severe acid reflux causing the vitamins he had had at home to
come back up, uninvited, into his throat. Instead of being able to swallow it back down J breathed in the
fluid and stopped breathing. I began to count, fully expecting to hear an
intake at “five” but by the time I reached “ten” I began to worry. I quickly
pulled him from the wrap and moved him about and he drew a sharp breath
in and then began to breathe normally. I was concerned but he was acting
normally so we went on to our coffee date.
At brunch J was sleepy and not super interested in eating (which
happened from time to time) so I put him back in the wrap and we headed to the
grocery store, our last stop for the day. Here in South Africa it is common to
have to pay for parking at shopping centers and malls. When you enter the lot you receive a ticket and then
on the way out you pay for your parking at a machine near the entrance. I
always, ALWAYS, put the Parking ticket in the very same place in my wallet but
when it came time for us to leave the mall I could not find my ticket. I began to
grumble internally at my “ baby brain” and made my way to the nearest information desk. It
took about 15 minutes to get everything sorted by the time we got to the car I
was hot and harried. I quickly unloaded our groceries and then went to put J into his car seat. When I pulled him from the wrap he was floppy and not
breathing! I immediately ripped off his clothes and began saying his name and doing
my best to rouse him. I laid him flat in one arm and used my knuckles to rub
his chest along his sternum and he finally drew in a sharp breath. By this
time, I was properly scared and drove the 15 minutes home listening for every
breath and asking God for wisdom. It was only later that I began to realize the
Grace that protected us that afternoon. Had I not “lost” my parking ticket
there is a very good chance that I would have arrived at home only to find a
dead baby strapped securely into the car seat behind me.
Once we were home I began
watching him like a hawk and giving him 30 minutes to either take a turn for
the better or we were going to head to the hospital. Unfortunately, our babies
do not have the luxury of Private Health Care and all our emergency medical
needs are met by a government hospital that is about 45 minutes away from our
home. It is a training hospital where there are well trained (and being
trained) doctors and specialists but the moment to moment care provided by the
Sisters on duty is patchy and sometimes downright scary. Due to this truth I
rarely take a baby to the emergency room unless I am confident that the baby needs to
be admitted. After being home for another 20 minutes or so and attempting a
feed J stopped breathing again. I stopped counting after reaching “45” so I
could lay this floppy, treasured baby down in my arms to start CPR. I could
feel his tiny heart beating sporadically as I covered his mouth and nose with
mouth and gave 2 short puffs. I waited and then blew another set of short puffs
and by the grace of God J finally drew in a ragged breath. “Three strikes
you are out” I said to myself and rushed into the house to hand him to Auntie
Karabelo (our only Auntie medically trained who just “happened” to be on duty
that day) so I could call Sister Didi (our clinic Sister who lives on site) to come and check J and frantically pack a bag for
the hospital.
By the time I got the bag packed
for J and grabbed a few things for myself Sister Didi had woken herself up
from a nap (precious sweetheart that she is) and was listening to his chest with her stethoscope. She confirmed
that an immediate trip to the emergency room was required, she waked us to the car and quickly
prayed for us as Auntie Karabelo settled into the backseat with J in her
arms. I jumped behind the wheel and began the longest trip to the hospital in
all my days. The car was quiet at both of J’s Aunties hung on each of his
nasally breaths. I prayed and tried to concentrate on driving speedily but
working hard to not cross over into the realm of unsafe driving. It is a
desperate kind of regret that grips your heart as you speed by much closer
private hospitals as you rush towards the best option you have to offer your
baby. After a terse 40-ish minute drive I dropped off Karabelo and J at the
entrance to casualties and proceed to park the car. Thanking our good God the
entire way; for traveling mercies and that J had made it to the hospital
without having another apnea on the way.
Getting a baby admitted into a
public hospital is a dicey and difficult process to navigate and even as I
approached casualties I began to pray for mercy and favor that our little man
would actually be admitted to receive the care he needed. Once you open a file
you then are instructed to either wait in a room or in the general waiting area
until you can be seen by the team of students and doctors assigned to your
child’s case. Sisters will come and go but for the most part you sit alone with
your sick baby waiting to be seen. When J first arrived his vitals all
registered within a normal range, so they let him lie under a warmer but did
not attach him to any oxygen or a SATS machine to monitor his vitals. Needless to say I spent my watching him intently and praying that
the Lord would allow the doctors to see what they needed to see. After 2 hours
or so the student doctor finally arrived to get J’s story and to fill in the
details of his file. As I am sharing his medical history and describing the
events of the day I look over to see him not breathing and turning grey. “Just
like this” I say and the as the doctor goes to rouse him J pulls in a breath
and begins to breathe normally. She quickly grabs the oxygen tube from the
wall, attaches a new nasal cannula to the tube and puts our little man on the much appreciated oxygen to help him breathe easier. She then confirmed what I knew: that our
J needed to be admitted to the hospital immediately. We heard later that week
that another baby home in the area had brought in an infant to that very same
hospital a few days before we brought J in. He had had breathing problems at
home but by the time he got to the hospital his vitals were normal. They sent
him home with the diagnosis of a chest infection and a prescription for
antibiotics. Tragically that little man died at the home just two days later. I
praise the Lord that He allowed J to have one last apnea in front of the right
person so that we could be admitted. In all the time at the hospital in the
coming days J never had another apnea! But we spent two long weeks getting
to bottom of and recovering from his breathing trauma we encountered that day.
I don’t think that words can
adequately describe the experience of having your baby admitted to a ward of any hospital, let alone a public one; it is a mother’s perfectly designed torture. At least that is
how I feel. Saying that, I logically know how blessed we are to even have
legitimate hospital in our area to take our babies to. I know that millions of mothers and
babies don’t even have access to a clinic, let alone a hospital where we
received CT and Milk Scans, visited a Cardiac Clinic, received a Cranial Sonar
and had numerous blood tests and results taken. All that being said our time on
the ward was torture: heart breaking, demoralizing, physically and emotionally
demanding, monotonous torture...
Part Three coming soon! Thanks for checking in! Lots of love!
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