True story. So today was the day for Littlest’s fancy-schmancy-can’t-remember-the-name-for-it procedure. If you’d like the beginning of this story, it can be found here. Up to date? Ok, I’ll carry on. This is the rundown I was given:
Stop feeding Littlest 2 hours before arriving at hospital.
Arrive 1 hour before appointment.
Littlest would be receiving sedation.
He would be in pediatrics for the better part of the day.
That was it. So, as I prefer to be prepared for everything, I spent yesterday and this morning… preparing for everything. I cleaned my house, obtained a sitter to mind Biggest for the entire day, made bottles, and packed as much stuff as I could into my diaper bag.
– money for the payphone? check!
– money for coffee? clearly check!
– money for the crappy over-priced hospital cafeteria grub? unfortunately, check!
– book for the long hours that Littlest would be medicated and passed out? check.
– bottles for the unknown hours that Littlest may or may not be hungry? a rather heavy check!
– bus schedule and tickets, since I had no idea how long I would be there? a definite check!
Lastly, I planned to wear Littlest, as I didn’t want to bring my stroller, I had to take the bus, and I was fairly certain it’d be a lot more calming after everything was done.
Wanna know what really happened? I got there in time to have a coffee (forgot my breakfast on the way out the door). Went up to pediatrics, got checked in, and chatted with the loveliest nurse yet. However, she had no such orders for sedation, and I was free to feed a now very hungry Littlest. I couldn’t decide whether to be a puddle of relief on the floor, or extremely annoyed that I was told the complete opposite on the phone. I chose the puddle of relief, took the particularly comfortable glider located in our room, and fed Littlest. By the time I was done that, they came to put the catheter in. This child of mine was cooing and gurgling the whole time. He apparently didn’t realize exactly what was going on (don’t worry, we got the screaming later). Then we were taken down to diagnostic imaging, at which point, Littlest’s bladder was filled up with some kind of sticky substance that was visible on an x-ray, I donned a bright green radiation vest thingy, and we waited for him to pee.
15 minutes of screaming later… He finally did. I guess he didn’t want to pee, because he cried for the entire 15 minutes, despite his bladder being visibly full on the monitor. And when he did pee (by this point, his whole face was beet red from crying, and the nurses had tried everything, including warm washcloths), he peed a little bit, and stopped. And peed a little bit more and stopped. And screamed for another 5 minutes, then finally let it go. And we were finished. Free to go. A little bit of sign this please, sign here please, right by the x please, and we were whisked into the sunshine, blinking.
And promptly got on the wrong bus. Luckily, the driver didn’t assume I wanted to go all the way to the bus yard, and politely informed me that he was going home, and if I wanted a transfer, there was another bus going the other way in 5 minutes. I politely accepted.
Once downtown, I stopped at my father-in-law’s restaurant, as I’m pretty sure I would have died from lack of caffeine and food deprivation long before I got home. It was then mentioned to me that perhaps, since he doesn’t like peeing, I should try putting him on the potty, just in case it’s the diaper feeling that’s not to his liking, rather than peeing. Personally, I think that he just likes keeping me on my toes, as I think he’s dry one minute, and the next, he’s practically leaking out the sides. Yep, that’s probably it. Also, I almost peed from stark terror at the thought of trying to teach my 6 month old how to go potty.
And with that, I’m completely worn out, and my pizza (that my loving husband thoughtfully brought home so I did not have to cook) is now mostly cold. Just right.