When it comes to certain things in life, I think it’s okay to have high hopes and low expectations. In my opinion, high hopes with high expectations, only leads to disappointment.
I generally try live by this motto, but recently I did not.
Sam was supposed to start school today. He hasn’t been in school since October. I think I was looking forward to him starting school the most. When he came down with what we think is a stomach bug yesterday, I was selfishly pretty bummed. When I shared my feelings with Sam’s dietitian, her response was,
Not selfish in my mind. You want this for Sam and it was also going to be a break for you.
She was right. Clearly in this situation, my hopes and expectations were high. Give yourself grace.
We’re still home and hoping to keep it that way. Although, we are very done with this PICC line, it might just be the thing that keeps Sam from a hospital stay.
Before he started feeling sick, he was on track to be done with the TPN (food/nutrition through his bloodstream) by the end of April, which would mean no more PICC line. His g-tube feedings have been going really well. We are hoping this doesn’t set him too far back and also know he likes to throw curveballs in the mix sometimes.
The prayer is that this is a stomach bug and not an intolerance to his feedings. As a of now, we are confident he has a stomach bug and hopefully he’ll kick it quickly.
On another note, we were able to take a trip few weeks ago. If you remember from our last trip, we had some memories to last a lifetime. On our way home, our flight was canceled. We weren’t able to get on another flight home until the next day. From that, we were each given vouchers from the airline. Abby had a soccer tournament in Florida so we thought we would use those vouchers and try our luck at another trip.
I say trip because when you are traveling with young kids or someone with special needs, it’s a trip, not a vacation. ; ) Although it was another eventful trip, we had a fabulous time.
Here’s a very short version.
On the way there, our flight was delayed two hours, Sam peed through his sweatpants. We had to leave his wet shirt on because he was still hooked up to his PICC line. He pooped right before we boarded the plane, which held the plane up a little longer. Thankfully, we hadn’t boarded yet. He threw his suction machine (basically his lifeline) into the ocean. Red tide hit our beaches, but we had two fabulous days on the beach. Abby sprained her ankle in her second game. Our flight home was delayed an hour and then we sat on the runway for almost another hour. When we got home, we were locked out of our house.
BUT what we remember was absolutely perfect weather and a wonderful time with family and friends. We kept our hopes high and our expectations low. We had some bumps along the way, but we expected some of those and rolled with the punches.
Sam might not be the easiest guy to travel with, let alone leave the house with, but we want him to have the best quality of life and we have chosen to do what we can to give him that and not hold our other kids back despite his complexities.
Ready to fly! Trached kid playing is the sand. Sand in the airway, not good. Shhh…
Prayers Sam can kick this stomach bug quickly and go back to school where he makes people better!
Sam’s g-tube (feeding tube) feedings are going really well. He’s tolerating the small amounts we are giving him. To put it in perspective, we are slowly giving him about a med cup and a half three times a day. The mixture consists of puréed green beans, infant oatmeal, and his specialized formula. Yum.
We were very excited to finally be able to start the diet Cincinnati Children’s had told us about last May. It’s a diet they came up with for gaggy/retchy kids who don’t eat by mouth. This is Sam to a tee.
Sam’s dietitian (who is the best) has put a lot of work into figuring out this whole thing after collaborating with a Cincinnati dietician only a few times. Everyone here is excited to try it and see the results.
There are many reasons for us to hope he tolerates his feedings, but obviously, we ultimately want to avoid another surgery.
Because we are going so slow with his feeds, it will be a while before we can get rid of the PICC line. As I’ve told you in the past, bathing Sam is a two person job and downright scary. Sam LOVES the water and is constantly trying to drown himself, literally. With the trach, he can’t be fully submerged in water, but because he has no idea the consequence is deadly, he continues to try. With that in mind, washing his hair has become an art for us. Now, add a PICC line on his arm that can’t get wet. Hmmm…
Before last week, Sam hadn’t had a real bath since November. Yes, you heard me right, that’s over two months ago. For all you mamas out there who feel guilty your little ones have gone too long without a bath, don’t. Sponge baths can only go on for so long though.
Bath time with a trach, PICC line, and a feeding tube. We did it.Hmmm…what can I do next?
HALT.
All that writing was before we ended up in the dreaded Children’s emergency department (ED). Sam’s skin at his PICC site was looking fabulous. Last week, we noticed some irritation. As the week wore on, it didn’t get better. Bummer.
After we sent another picture of Sam’s arm to his infusion nurse, she called right away, “I’m so sorry, but I think you need to take him in.” Exactly what you want to hear on a Friday at 4:00. He had zero symptoms so it felt very odd taking a happy little boy to the ED. In a weird way, it felt good to have the folks in the ED see what Sam is like when he’s himself. When we bring Sam to the ED, it’s because we have exhausted all of our home treatments and he’s miserable.
As a medical mama, you miss a lot of your other kids stuff. I’m grateful to the people in our community who are aware of this and send me pics.
Thankfully, we only stayed one night. In Sam’s history of hospital stays, a one nighter has only happened three times, and the first two were day surgeries when he was a baby, because they didn’t quite trust him yet. He was treated for cellulitis at his PICC site and twenty-four hours later, we were on our way home. Of course, everyone was happy to see him on the in patient side.
The next day around 4:30 p.m., Sam fell asleep on the couch watching his iPad. Uh oh. This is not like Sam. I hooked him up to his pulse oximeter (checked his heart rate and oxygen). His heart rate was a little elevated. Shoot, but not too concerned. As his heart rate went up, he started to develop a fever. Crap. Oh, Lord, please don’t let it be sepsis. After a few phone calls to the infusion team and his doctor, we were advised to bring him back to the hospital. Sepsis is always a cause for concern with a PICC, but the risk goes way up when you have a skin infection at the site. We packed ALL the things again and headed back to Children’s. My fear was trying to set in, but I was pouring my faith into my heart.
We checked in, they got his vitals, and we were in a room in record time. The nurse set up the blood culture labs before the doc even saw us. She was ready. The doc came in and ordered the necessary tests. They drew labs and swabbed for all the viruses. Side note. One of the beauty’s of having a PICC is not having to get poked. We waited.
Sam and Dad are sleeping and mama is praying it’s not sepsis.
The doctor came in the room and my heart beat a little faster. At that point, Sam’s labs weren’t concerning, but Sam was positive for Covid. Thank goodness!! He likely picked it up at the hospital when we were there, but who knows! Poor buddy. If you’re wondering why I was so happy about Covid, it’s because I’ll take Covid over sepsis any day. We packed everything up and headed home. It was a four hour round trip and another late night, but record ED time and we got to go home.
Other than a low grade fever, Sam’s rocking Covid so far. Praying it stays the course it is.
Thankfully, through all this, he’s still tolerating his feeds.
We were surprised when he actually left the mask on for a couple of minutes at the eye doctor.
Besides his meds and water, Sam has not had anything in his stomach for over two months. I think it’s safe to say, his gut has had rest. We are going to introduce feeds into his g-tube (feeding tube) very soon. It will be a very, very small amount, and we will slowly add more as he tolerates it. We are nervous and excited.
Sam has otherwise been doing great! “Eating” through his bloodstream doesn’t seem to phase him much. He’s not in school yet, but he’s been able to go to occupational therapy and speech comes to our house once a week. He keeps himself busy organizing and being on his IPad more than he probably should be.
PICC line dressing changes are getting easier each week. He seems to fight less and knows the worst part is when his infusion nurse has to take off the old dressing. Getting his TPN (nutrition) started has become a part of our evening routine and it feels normal. I will be happy though when the PICC line is gone. It’s not the fastest process in the world and let’s face it, not normal.
Please pray Sam tolerates his feeds and he will not need the surgery his surgeon talked about before Christmas.
I hope you and your family had a very Merry Christmas and Happy New Year! I know I got my Christmas wish and very thankful for it.
This poor kid. He continues to completely amaze me. He is the toughest little boy I have ever known.
On top of his esophagus being narrow, RSV, and tracheitis, the last three days, he’s had two infiltrated IV’s and intussusception again.
We played a guessing game for a few days with the intussusception. I had a light bulb moment on Thursday morning he was having intussusception again, but you can only catch it when it’s happening. To recap, we know Sam had intussusception in April and again when we were in Cincinnati in May. Needless to say, when we finally caught it on the ultrasound a few days later, I was bummed and felt validated at the same time. Because the intussusception is resolving on its own, there’s not much to do besides gut rest, which Sam’s been doing for the past week.
Thankfully, the first infiltrated IV healed on its own. The second was not as fortunate. His hand puffed up like a balloon to his elbow and because it didn’t heal on its own, they had to treat it. Oh no. This has only happened once in his life when he was a baby. I say ‘only’ because for how many times Sam has had an IV placed, that’s pretty good. I told the nurse, “I don’t want to be in the room when you do it.” I knew what treatment meant. Five needles poked in his little arm at the same time. I didn’t have it in me at that point to help hold him down. Thank you to the nurses who reassured me, it was more than okay for me to step out. We have barely and thankfully avoided another IV since then.
During all the guessing, the hospitalist said, “I always have at least one on the unit. The one who keeps me up at night when I go to bed and the one I think about when I wake up in the morning and that is you this time Sam.” If I had a dollar for every doctor I’ve heard say something like that…
It’s reassuring though. There’s comfort in knowing someone is losing sleep over figuring out your child.
Now we need Sam to start tolerating his feeds. He tolerated the Pedialyte great, but as soon as we introduce formula, he seems to go downhill. In order for us to break out of jail, he needs to be tolerating formula. You’ve got this buddy!
He’s had some pretty rough days, but today was overall good. Praying it’s all uphill from here. Prayers for continued wisdom and discernment for his doctors. Prayers for the intussusception to not come back. Prayers he will tolerate his feeds. Prayers for a restful night tonight.
Sam’s esophagus was barely open (esophageal stricture). This is nothing new for Sam, but it’s been a very long time since he’s needed a dilation. This is the best fixable answer we could ask for. His GI doctor dilated him and wants to dilate again in two to four weeks. Poor buddy.
Praying now he will tolerate Pedialyte. Generally, when Sam is hospitalized, the doctors want him to be successful on his home feeding regimen before we go home. We move very slow to get there. I was able to convince the docs to let him be successful on Pedialyte and let us work on the formula at home. Anything to give us a few less days in the hospital.
Now Sam just needs to turn the corner so we can get the heck out of dodge!
Thank you for all your prayers! Continued prayers Sam will turn the corner, his blood pressure will come down, and that he will not surprise us with anything else.
As of right now, Sam will not need surgery. Thank you Lord!
The surgeons were pretty convinced yesterday morning Sam would need surgery based off the six ultrasounds he had throughout the night on Sunday. As they came and pressed on his tummy throughout the day yesterday and rested his belly, they became less convinced Sam would need surgery.
Today we started some Pedialyte at a very slow rate in his g-tube. Those of you who know Sam, you read right, I said his g-tube, not his j-tube. After the misery of the getting the j-tube inserted in radiology (not surgery here), surgery pulled his j-tube that evening possibly thinking it was instigating the intussusception. For a few reasons, this could be a disaster or a blessing in disguise.
One reason is the j-tube has often kept us out of the hospital when he gets sick and is not tolerating Pedialyte or formula in his g-tube (stomach). Another reason is that he is currently dependent on his j-tube for half of his daily feedings. The blessing would be, he will tolerate ALL his feedings in his g-tube and not need the j-tube. We would absolutely love only a g-tube.
The surgeon and nurse laughed at me in the middle of the night when the j-tube was pulled and the g-tube was put in when I said, ”Oh it’s so beautiful.” If you know anything about feeding tubes, you can understand my excitement. If you know Sam medically, you can understand my apprehension. It’s going to be a blessing in disguise.
The best news is Sam woke up this morning clearly feeling much better. He’s sitting up and even giving quite a few smiles. He hasn’t made any sounds yet, but I don’t think we’re far from that.
A night and day difference from yesterday!
The hotel we were staying at did not have anymore availability, but we were able to get a room at the Ronald McDonald House here and we able to cancel our flight with no fees.
I’d be lying if I told this is easy, but you know me, I like to stay focussed on the perks. It’s much better for the soul. I also believe we are in the best place possible. Cincinnati Children’s is internationally known for caring for kids with airway and esophageal disorders. It doesn’t take long having a kid like Sam to see that.
Pray Sam will tolerate his feeds, the intussusception has fixed itself, it will not recur, and for NO MORE SURPRISES!
Thank you for walking alongside us in this journey, the continued prayers, and the encouragement. They both go a long way.
…we have a good plan in place. Here is an extremely summarized version of the latest.
They didn’t find anything on the endoscopy. Based off Sam’s symptoms, and stopping and starting his feeds, they have narrowed down the problem to his feeds. I’ll spare you all of the medical jargon and Sam’s anatomy talk.
They will rest his bowels for the next day or so and very slowly introduce feeds. If the feeds go south again, they will do another endoscopy through his j-tube (feeding tube).
Otherwise, it may be Sam’s little gut needs more time, which means, we would be able to go home, but with a PICC line to make up for lost nutrition. Sigh. Okay, time for that good olé self talk.
The PICC line would only be temporary and we would be able to go home, where both Sam and I need to be.
On a good note, Sam had an overall good day. His strength and determination never ceases to amaze me.
To my sweet Sam. Each year when your birthday rolls around, off and on, I become numb. The moments where my world completely stopped, become vivid in my mind more often at this time of the year.
This day four years ago our lives forever changed. The days with you can be hard, scary, long, overwhelming, and a lot of work, BUT I wouldn’t change a single thing.
You’ve made me realize even more, you never know what the stranger standing next to you has endured during this life, whether there is a smile on their face or not.
Because of you I’ve been able to meet some of the most amazing people and even though there seems to be so much chaos in the world, you continue to make me see all the good in people.
Today, and every year on this day to come, I will forever wonder what you will remember.
What will you remember?
Will you remember the day you were born when they immediately took you from me because you were turning blue?
I don’t think so.
Will you remember when you and Dad left in the ambulance without me?
No, but I will.
Will you remember I didn’t see you and Dad until over twenty-four hours later?
No, but I will.
Will you remember at the beginning when they said you would have surgery and then go home in a few weeks?
No, but I will.
Will you remember when you were four days old? Dad and I were waving goodbye to you, tears in our eyes, as they rolled you away for your first of many surgeries?
No, but I will.
Will you remember when you were scheduled for surgery, but it got canceled because you went into cardiac arrest?
I don’t know.
Will you remember when I was going home for the first time after you had been in the hospital for almost three months to take your brothers and sister to their first day of school, but couldn’t because you went into cardiac arrest again?
I wonder.
Will you remember when less than twenty-four hours later, you turned blue AGAIN, needing more than ten minutes of chest compressions this time?
Maybe.
Will you remember when the doctor would give us more bad news? He told us in order for you to have a chance at life you would need a tracheostomy? They would need to cut a hole in your throat to insert a breathing tube?!?!
No, but I will.
Will you remember the first time Dad and I had to change your trach (breathing tube)?
No, but I will.
Will you remember the surgery we had been waiting for since you were born that everyone thought would be successful, wasn’t?
No, but I will.
Will you remember when they told us they would be moving you to to the PICU (Pediatric Intensive Care Unit) because NI (Neonatal Intensive Care Unit) doesn’t know how to sedate kids like PI does?
No, but I will.
Will you remember when you came back from surgery on your tummy with more chords coming from you than I could count, on a huge bed that wasn’t meant for babies?
No, but I will.
Will you remember when they stretched your lower esophagus out of your upper back and your upper esophagus out your lower back?
No, but I will.
Will you remember the balloons on your back that couldn’t move and if you would even flinch, they would quickly give you more sedation meds?
No, but I will.
Will you remember when I was weak, Dad was strong and when Dad was weak, I was strong?
No, but I will.
Will you remember when I read and sang to you everyday during your thirty-four day medically induced coma?
No, but I will.
Will you remember one day while I was reading to you and your shoulder slightly twitched as if you knew it’s what I needed that day?
No, but I will.
Will you remember when they they took you down to surgery to try connect your esophagus to your stomach again, but couldn’t?
No, but I will.
Will you remember the chest tubes?
No, but I will.
Will you remember when they told us a chunk of your lower esophagus had torn off so they threw that piece of you away, resutured, and stretched again?
No, but I will.
Will you remember the brokenness I felt being torn between staying with you in the hospital and going home to be with your brothers, sister, and dad?
No, but I will.
Will you remember when they tried to do a trach change, but you went into cardiac arrest AGAIN and needed to be reintubated?
I wonder.
Will you remember when your ENT left his clinic that day just to check on you, told me we had been through so much, hugged me, and left to return to his clinic?
No, but I will.
Will you remember all the complications?
No, and honestly, I already don’t. There were so many.
Will you remember the first time you opened your eyes after your thirty-four day medically induced coma?
No, but I will.
Will you remember when a part of me wanted you to close them again because they creepily raced back and forth?
No, but I will.
Will you remember when your nurse told me I would get to hold my baby after almost two months of not being able to?
No, but I will.
Will you remember, although you were tiny, it took four people to carefully and slowly put you into my arms?
No, but I will.
Will you remember the tears immediately streaming down my face as I held you in my arms again?
No, but I will.
Will you remember when they told me we needed nurses in our home for up to twenty hours of the day to help take care of you?
No, but I will.
Will you remember when you were you six months old and I took you on your first stroller ride, up and down the hospital halls?
No, but I will.
Will you remember how excited, yet terrified I was the day they told me we could finally bring you home?
No, but I will.
Will you remember when they put your car seat on the ambulance stretcher, all the hugs, people staring, doctors and nursing crying?
No, but I will.
Will you remember the first day you were home after spending over seven months in the hospital?
No, but I will.
Will you remember the many who thought you’d never make it out of that hospital?
No, but I will.
Will you remember the first time we went back to the hospital two weeks after you were home to get your esophagus stretched?
No, but I will.
Will you remember all the surgeries? You’ve now had over fifty and you’re not even four.
No, but I will.
Will you remember all the times we spent in the ER because the regular clinic, urgent care, or hospitals closer to us don’t know what to do with a kid like you?
No, but I will.
Will you remember for over nine months people brought meals to our house?
No, but I will.
Will you remember the MANY cards, gift cards, and gifts we received?
No, but I will.
There is so much more I will remember, but you won’t and that’s how it should be.
There are times I wonder if you will remember the four times in your life you met Jesus. I wonder if you’ll be able to speak someday and tell me all about it. Until then, I will love you like every mother loves their children.
Happy 4th birthday my sweet boy!!!! Keep on being super!!!!
It’s been a while since I’ve shared the latest on Sam. No news is good news, right? Pretty much.
It may also have something to do with distance learning, which kicked my behind. I am very glad school is out for the summer in our house. There may have been more yelling matches and apologies needed than I am proud to admit.
Sam was also able to do distance learning, which was the highlight of our days to watch. His face would light up as soon as the camera started. He thinks it’s pretty great to watch himself, and loved seeing his teacher, paras, and classmates. Our hearts melted every time.
Sam’s teacher, therapists, and paras had an end of the year virtual graduation for each child individually. His teacher dropped off a package about a week prior and had asked us to wait to open it until the graduation. Everyone talked about all the things they loved about Sam, he opened his gift and it ended with a video of pictures of Sam throughout the school year. The tears were literally streaming down my face.
This kid who isn’t suppose to be here…absolutely thriving.
Besides a few bumps, Sam has been very healthy and continues to put smiles on everyone’s faces.
As you know, I like to pull the perks in crummy situations. Most of us could agree being stuck at home wasn’t what we would choose, but there was good that came of it for us.
When Sam has just one appointment, it’s usually at least a four hour ordeal if not more. We try our best to group some appointments together in one day for less trips overall.
While quarantined, we were able to schedule Sam’s appointments virtually, which has been a huge blessing for us. An hour versus four or more out of your day is much better if you ask me and Sam is a very busy guy when it comes to doctor appointments.
One virtual appointment did lead Sam to needing an ultrasound in the near future. Unfortunately, it’s looking likely there was a complication of the surgery he had last fall, which may lead him to another surgery. Praying against yet another surgery for this guy.
Sam’s ophthalmologist wanted to see him in the clinic before his normal six month check up. Since January, he’s been closing his right eye when he is focusing on something. We thought maybe his nearsightedness had gotten worse. We were wrong. I’m not gonna lie, the thought of Sam having glasses made me a little excited. You can’t tell me, he wouldn’t be adorable. Am I right?!
The reason Sam has been closing his right eye is because his lazy eye has gotten worse. For right now, he has to wear a patch alternating eyes for an hour a day. Sam’s nurse and I practically laughed when we walked out of the clinic. There no way he’s going to tolerate that! Wrong again!
He’s been a rock star at wearing his patch. Coincidentally, his buddy next door has to wear a patch too. This definitely helps! And they couldn’t be any cuter.
We are the patch buddies.
Sam was finally able to get a haircut! We are always amazed at how fast his hair grows. I’ve lost track of how many haircuts he’s had. We are thankful we have someone who comes to our house to cut his hair.
I need a haircut.
Yeah, I look pretty cute.
Right now, Sam’s focus are his GI issues, which have always been a work in progress for him. The latest thing we’ve tried has been working successfully for almost a week. We’re praying this stays that way.
Cincinnati…
Obviously with Covid, we had to put the brakes on our trips, which is not such a bad thing. Yes, we want to get rid of Sam’s trach and it holds us back from things, but overall he has a good quality of life so pumping the brakes is okay. More importantly, Sam has been healthy the past few months and we are grateful for that.
We received a phone call about three weeks ago from Cincinnati, they will be calling in June or July to schedule Sam’s next surgery. My guess is our next big trip will be in the fall.
That’s all for now folks!
Thanks for staying Sam Strong even in the midst of all the chaos in our world.
About two weeks ago, I did my usual run to the pharmacy to pick up Sam’s meds. We had been running low on hand sanitizer, which is a staple in our house so I figured I would pick some up.
I ventured over to the aisle where I knew I would find the hand sanitizer. As I turned the corner, I noticed empty shelves. You guessed it. There was absolutely no hand sanitizer. That’s silly, I thought to myself, I guess I’ll get it at Walmart. The shelves were completely empty there too. For real?! This can’t be a result of people freaking out about the Coronavirus?! I’ll try Amazon. Nope. I’m not paying that kind of money for a six fluid ounce bottle!!
This is a true story. It’s hard for me to understand. As you are probably aware, there are many other things flying off the shelves besides hand sanitizer. Being precautionary is one thing, but wiping out stores tells me fear and panic are involved.
We are now on our last bottle of hand sanitizer and I still haven’t been able to find any. I’m not going to bend over backwards to find it and I’m not going to pay a pretty penny for it. We have kind people in our life who know how important hand sanitizer is in our house and have bought some for us.
People are living in fear. Fear of what might or could or might not happen. Being precautionary is one thing, panic is another.
We have a medically fragile son. How many are feeling and reacting to the Coronavirus, we could feel and react the same way each and every day. This is the reality of anyone who has a medically complex child. Every single day, germs are very BIG deal in our house.
We choose not to live in fear. We do our best, but that’s all we have. We take precautions, but don’t let the weight of what the germs “could” do to Sam consume our minds. We continue to wash our hands and say our prayers, because Jesus and germs are everywhere. I try focus more on the Jesus side of things, because I believe His plan is bigger.
Worry is a thief of joy. The more you dwell on your worry, the more and more tangible it becomes. A worry can’t change anything. It is just that, a worry. It’s our mind dwelling on the maybe. I have two things in my life right now that are legit things I could worry about. If I sat, thought about, continually talked about, read about, and listen to all the terrible things that “could” happen, I would likely drive myself nuts. We have to choose to make technology a blessing and not a cursing, because, unfortunately, if we aren’t careful, fear and panic can easily set in.
Try not to let the fear of the Coronavirus consume you. Keep living the life you are hopefully already doing by good hand washing and staying home if you are sick.
Worry implies that we don’t quite trust that God is big enough, powerful enough, or loving enough to take care of what’s happening in our lives.
– Francis Chan
