We have decided to use our platform to give bows to children in the hospital this month. Steve details why in this month’s story…read on!
2012: Lucile Packard Children’s Hospital, California
The words hung in the air: “I’m sorry, sir. We don’t know what’s wrong with your son.” I’m sure the young doctor could see my face change from hope to concern.
“The infection seems to be spreading, and what we’re doing to stop the spread is not working. I’m going to call my colleagues and come up with a game plan. I’ll get back to you in an hour.” After a few deep breaths in the hallway and looking around in recognition that we were going to be here awhile, I returned to the room and sat down next to Gavin, who had been admitted to Stanford Children’s hospital after a quick ambulance ride from Monterey. I sat down on the cold pleathery chair/bed that would become my home for the next week.
How did I get here? Less than 24 hours ago we put Gavin to bed with a bit of a limp after playing hard. He had a little redness on his ankle from where he must have bumped it. We didn’t think twice about it since he is a rough and tumble kid and figured he would be better when he woke up. In the morning, after I had gone to work (work was school at that time), Kathleen called me between classes and mentioned that he Gavin was now running a fever. A fever also wasn’t unusual. At this time Gavin was a kid with a sibling and he played with other kids. We were experienced enough to know fevers did not usually equal a problem. No big deal, I thought, and went back to class…but then, about 45 minutes later, Kathleen called me back and said his fever wasn’t really reacting to the Tylenol. This was a bit unusual, but still not outside the realm of the normal. At this time Kathleen was home with newborn twins, and we had a lot going on. it would have been easy to dismiss the two apparently unrelated symptoms of a limp and a fever as coincidence or decide to wait until after school to figure out what was going on, but both of us had that nagging feeling in our gut. Something wasn’t right.
I asked her to look on his ankle where he had bumped it. After a minute or two, she got back on the phone and told me it looked more red and may have grown a bit. “Hard to tell.” That was all I needed to hear. I asked her to draw a line around the redness with a pen and take him to the Pediatrician. I knew that the pen mark would be helpful to the doctor to see the spread of what I now suspected was an infection. I met them at the doctor where the pediatrician took a look at his leg, drew some blood, and immediately had us go to the local hospital while we waited for results. We drove over in silence, with our feverish little boy in his car seat looking pretty miserable. He was 1, almost 2.
Community Hospital of the Monterey Peninsula (CHoMP) is small, but by all accounts a great, hospital. We had recently had a wonderful experience there, giving birth to Ryan and Dylan only 2 weeks before. There were competent skilled doctors here, and we felt good that they would give him some medication and get us out soon. Fortunately, part of being a good hospital is recognizing when you’re in over your head. We were there less than 4 hours. After seeing that Gavin wasn’t responding immediately to treatment the doctors there told us that they were going to transport Gavin to Lucile Packard Children’s Hospital at Stanford, a couple hours up the road. We were going to ride in an ambulance. I tried to get Gavin excited about this ride, but he was scared…I could tell. I was too.
Before long we were checked in, more blood was drawn, and Gavin seemed to be feeling worse. I had the conversation with the doctor that crushed my hope of a quick trip, and returned to let my little buddy know that we might be there awhile, but Daddy would be with him the whole time. I emailed my teachers and let them know I would be catching up whenever I returned. I called Kathleen and gave her the news…she was still at home with the newborns. It was a blur.
The next few days were more tests, more disappointments, and ultimately a hail mary surgery to go in and “clean the infection.” I learned more about blood and infections than I wanted to, and also learned that our team there was world-renowned for this type of work. We were in the best hands possible. The surgery worked almost immediately, and we were home a couple days after that. It felt like we went from total uncertainty to walking out of the hospital as quickly as we had arrived.
When it was over, our little guy had spent 7 days in the hospital and Daddy didn’t leave him. Mommy came too, and visited in-between feeding twins. As the days drug on I began to notice the families there around me. Some were in and out quickly, some had been there before me and were there when I left. Somehow the hospital was a place of both hope and heartbreak. The closest experience I have that even comes close is flying in combat. Hospital stays are an intense experience that magnifies emotion and puts everything into vivid relief. Small things take on great meaning. For me it was the night time when I knew Gavin was sleeping and I would sneak away for a hot-chocolate. I would sit at the same table and savor that…it was the best hot chocolate I have ever had, yet would probably be unremarkable in any other situation. Once Gavin was able to walk again we would go visit the train display and watch the trains for hours. This became at the same time a routine and a moment to be savored. Life was precious, and the hospital brings that out like very few experiences.
Going home we vowed to never forget the feelings of appreciation and new lease on life Gavin had. The doctors told us we were a few hours away from the tipping point where the infection would have spread and become a much direr situation…not sure how much more it could have gotten without us losing our little buddy for good. Of course, like everything, you eventually lose that feeling and get back into the day-to-day. You fail to treasure every moment as the child whose life was once on the line is now grinding your last nerve, and you start to take life for granted.
Then you talk to people like the our October family, the Reeds…or you learn about little Hazel and her time in the hospital, and you see the grace with which their parents are dealing with medical situations in their families. You realize again how every day is a blessing with our little people, and how fragile that time really is. While other families have much more time in hospitals dealing with medical issues that are much more drawn out and more dire than we dealt with, our brief stay gave me a window into their world and strangely enough a window into my own psyche. For that I am thankful.
As we communicated a bit with our last two families of the month I thought about that time in the hospital and proposed to Kathleen that we use our forum to provide bows to little girls who are in the hospital for the holidays. Thinking about how small things take on great meaning I realized that a small gift like a bow can bring a bit of color and light to someone and brighten their day, even if just for a moment. So that’s what we are going to do. For every bow you buy this month we will donate one to a pediatric ward in a hospital. Your “just donate” donations will go towards more bows (still working out the math…but it’ll all be used), and for each subscription, we will donate 12 bows! Bows will be Christmas themed for all orders we receive prior to the 15h of December, and we will transition to a new theme after that.
I hear you saying, “That’s a great idea! What can I do to help?”
- Buy/Donate
- share and spread the word…this is maybe the biggest thing anyone can do
- if you’re a nurse get in touch with us and let us know if you have kids under your care, we will put you on our list of recipients!
Thank you!
