Fun and Games in the Isolation Ward

I suppose I shouldn't have asked for a padded rubber room in my recent blog. I should be more careful what I wish for. As if by request, we ended up in isolation in Children's over the weekend.

It's not as awful as it sounds. Little Man has been fighting an upper respiratory infection for several months. Each trip to the doctor yielded the same reply, "It's a virus. He'll get better. It's not in his lungs. Nothing we can prescribe."

After two months turned into three, Little Man developed a high fever and barky, congested cough. The dreaded projectile vomiting returned in spades. He screamed for six hours straight overnight and behaved like a possessed demon during the day.

We took him to the Saturday drop-in clinic, where the doctor on call prescribed a strong antibiotic and sent us for chest xrays to rule out pneumonia. We were reassured that while he couldn't hear anything in his lower lungs, the pictures would rule it out for sure.

We refused to go to the local hospital for xrays. This hospital had tried to give my mother a blood transfusion with the wrong type of blood. They read an xray upside down and sent a cousin off for unnecessary emergency heart surgery (they realized the mistake in time). They diagnosed a serious ankle fracture as a sprain - a mistake that cost my husband's sister years of pain and a lifetime of limited ability. Most recently, they sent me home without food as a diabetic who was vomiting and suffering from low blood sugar because the "kitchen was closed" and they couldn't access any juice to bring my blood sugar up.

No thanks. I'll take my son to the experts at Children's Hospital, thank you very much. So off we went to Vancouver... a little better prepared this time. Extra books? Check. Favourite blankee? Check. Three changes of clothes in case he barfs? Check. Check. Check.

We went to admitting and asked for the radiology department. "Sorry," the nurse said "They're closed on weekends and you need an appointment anyways."

She had pity on us, as we'd driven from the burbs to get the best care for our little guy. As if we'd staged it, Little Man woke up, draped himself over his Daddy's shoulder and started hacking up a lung.

"Head on into emergency," the nurse advised. "Show them the requisition, but I'm sorry you'll have to go through the whole process first."

The 'whole process' was expedited by his fever-- and I mean that in the least literal sense. Because of H1N1, any fevered child must wear a mask or be placed in isolation. Now, putting a mask on a fevered, sick 22 month old is about as easy as it sounds. We were whisked off to isolation.

Six hours later, he'd been examined by a legion of health care professionals in scary yellow biohazard suits. He endured an iv for a blood draw, and a session in the xray room strapped down (and arms strapped up) for a glamour session photo-shoot of his lungs.

We explained to three doctors, one resident, and eight staff members who inquired about family history that he was adopted. We're so sorry, but we can't tell you if he's got drug allergies or a family history of heart disease. 

All in all it was a less than horrible hospital experience. We got a private room (woohoo! Thanks H1N1!) and the dvd player worked so we got to watch "Flushed Away" seventeen times in a row while we waited for the blood test results. I've had nightmares about rats in my toilet ever since.

We got home sometime after dark on Saturday evening (or was it Sunday morning?). Little Man didn't scream all night, and -- dare I say it? - he's even looking a little chipper here on Monday morning.

It's always an adventure with our Little Man. I guess we can cross Fun and Games in the Isolation Ward off our list of things to do.