Good Enough

Thanksgiving Eve started off with a bang, or should I say a chuck?

Upchucking that is. At 4 in the morning. Mr.Good and Buster came down with something that decided to visit for the holidays.

As I lay in bed, awake, and alert from soothing my sick son back to sleep I started to feel a little bitter. And then I remembered what we were going through three years ago during this very time of year.

Buster was only 3 1/2 and Missy was barely 1 year old. I didn’t think anything of it at first, when my son, who had been toilet trained for more than a year, began refusing to ur*in*nate. Our usual routine before we left for daily activities was to get up and use the bathroom right away. He started refusing to. He would hold it, going only once a day and even then it wasn’t without a fight. He seemed more emotional than usual. Buster is normally an easy going kid. When his friends were over he seemed more withdrawn, and he would ask that they be taken home.

I sensed something was not right, but I hesitated to take him to the doctor. We did not have health insurance.

Then he would claim he needed to go, and he would sit there, and not be able to. One day I took my daughter for her vaccinations. Buster said he had to go to the bathroom right when the doctor came in to the room to check out Missy. I had to excuse us all, and we went to the bathroom and waited for Buster to do his thing. He couldn’t. He was so frustrated and sad. It hurt my heart. When I finally herded us all back in the room I asked the doctor what her thoughts were about it. She said if he touched down there to often (as little boys sometimes do) that it could cause infection. A little Vaseline on the tip of the appendage should help any stinging he might be having. But she seemed concerned about it as well. She was not my sons regular pediatrician, and Missy was covered for a year under my old insurance. I didn’t feel like I could get him a full check up.

Thanksgiving came and went and Buster was still acting odd. I started to wonder if it could be a bladder infection? The only symptoms he had revolved around those toilet issues. I had voiced my concerns to Mr. Good. He knew our insurance would be reinstated soon and asked me to wait before taking Buster in. This was one of the most conflicting times of our marriage. I ached to take my son in, but my husband felt like his problems weren’t a big deal. I don’t want to make him out to be the bad guy in all of this, but poor Buster had to endure both of his parents begging, pleading, sometimes yelling at him to get over whatever it was and use the toilet. Thinking of this time makes a lump well up in my throat. I’m thankful Buster is a forgiving little boy.

One Sunday night his pain escalated. We were at his parents house which was close to a small hospital with an Emergency room that had always been good to us whenever we had midnight ear infections. This night I asked Mr.Good to take Buster in. I usually like to be the one at the hospital. I’m his mommy. I’m with him every day, all day. I know what is normal and what is not normal for my boy. I believed there was something wrong with him. I SHOULD have taken him in. Maybe the reason I sent Mr. Good with him was that I wanted him to see that there was something really wrong with him. My hope was they would diagnose a bladder infection and send him home with a prescription, and our problems would be over.

It couldn’t have gone worse that night.

Mr.Good came home more frustrated than ever. The nurses were rude and bullying. The Doctor was apathetic. Buster could not give a ur*ine sample. That was the problem. So of course they wanted to catheterise the little guy. When my husband questioned their method they told him not to be difficult.

I remember my first catheter. I was 21, and went to a local ER with one intense bladder infection. The nurse took one look at me and my boyfriend and I could see her opinions about us forming in her eyes. Then without warning she had jammed one into me. She pulled it out just as fast. Every time I pe*ed for the next week I felt exactly where the catheter had been.

And they did this to my little boy. Only they couldn’t get it in. They shoved and shoved and it wouldn’t fit. Mr. Good had to hold him down while he screamed. It is very hard for me to imagine that night.

After the catheter plan failed the nurses were at a loss of what to do and wanted to try again. My husband asked if they could try using a cup one more time. He took Buster in the bathroom and explained that the nurses would try to stick the tube in him again unless he could go into the cup. Buster tried very hard, and like a champ he finally went in the cup. They tested his ur*ine and sent them home empty handed. They told Mr.Good it was probably gas pains and that Buster seemed a little dehydrated. “Come back again if it gets worse.” The doctor told my husband.

You can imagine what Mr. Good was thinking.

He scolded me when he came home that night. He told me they never should have gone, that there was nothing wrong with our son, and he had to endure all that pain for nothing.

In my heart I felt it was the wrong diagnosis. I knew there were more trials ahead for us.

Tune in next time for more of the story. Good news, Buster lives. But just barely.

Trackback URI | Comments RSS