At 4am we decided to drive to Izmir. Tolga had arrived around 1am and Teoman continually woke up. I guess the only reason we waited so long was because the ER wouldn’t do anything, but rather recommend we wait for the pediatrician to come in at 9am.
I threw some things in a bag, took Tuana because I didn’t want to be stressed worrying about her too, especially if we had to stay in Izmir all day or overnight. Tomris I figured would be okay - she’s four and easily distracted.
I sat in the back seat holding Teoman. In fact, for the past so many hours - one of us had to be constantly holding him. He would cry out, "Put your hand on my belly! Pray for God! Pray! Pray! And it calmed him for me or Tolga to pray - but it made me question my own faith. Okay, so I’m praying. Where’s the relief? Where is the comfort? God is a father who gives good gifts, and we keep on knocking, and he doesn’t give snakes when you ask for things, and so on … so… why is there suffering in this world? How could this teach my son faith? Where are the answers? How could you deny the cry of a five year old boy?
We had to get gas, and we picked up Hakan at his hotel on the way. Hakan drove, Teoman slept most of the way - the longest stretch for him yet (over an hour drive). At the hospital, Tolga carried him into the ER. He didn’t want to move, but relented without much choice or fight. I changed Tuana in the car, and by the time I was in - the checkup was done as they had done exactly what we figured - recommended waiting for the pediatrician.
We sat in a garden nearby, and drank tea and coffee. Teoman laid on our laps, Tuana wondered the dusty garden and we made our way back to the main hospital entrance at 9am. The doctor sent him for an ultrasound where they could see pretty clearly his intestine was blocked. They call it - intussusception - a spontaneous and rare condition that happens mostly to children. The intestine slides into itself like a telescope, locking and blocking digestion. It’s symptoms are severe pain that comes and goes regularly. In ninety percent of the cases it can be cleared up with an air enema. They wanted to wait an hour and check it again - which if I had been more pushy, I would have insisted not to wait any longer as it had been the same for the past 24 hours - and this diagnosis seemed right. But maybe, just maybe, this is the part where the miracle happens.
The second ultrasound showed the same thing, and the doctor sent us down to the pediatric surgeon to evaluate. He had Teoman admitted and directed antibiotics to be started. Hakan went home. Around 2pm, the doctor came up and got after the nurses for having done nothing. I was a little surprised - because usually the nurses do nothing here, it was more surprising that he was annoyed. He announced he will do the surgery at 3:30.
What?!? Surgery? I thought they were just observing Teoman. What about the enema? The doctor said something about his stomach being too sensitive - I think he meant it was too, late - like we had waited too long. I asked him about the data that says 90% can be treated with the air enema. He said not in this case. Which is typical of doctors here as well. They over prescribe, are quick to do procedures, and are annoyed by questions. Patient education interfere’s with the elite know-all image. But who am I to argue? As his mother, I want what’s best for him, and I wasn’t going to insist on my inexperienced and superficial Googling of the condition.
Teoman’s room had a slightly smaller than average size bed with green sheets decorated with cars and trucks. They brought in a small gown and told us to change him into it. The gown was blue and paper thin with a paper shower cap. Tolga had worn the same thing a few months ago, but putting our son in it was devastating. Tolga tried to make light of it - “Just like me! Wow!” Teoman was still in pain on and off - and it never did cease, so I asked Tolga to go with him, as far as he could.
When they rolled out of the room I felt weak kneed. My brother/sister-in-law called, and I started crying and couldn’t answer the phone. I couldn’t get enough oxygen. We should be with him until he sleeps - that is the scariest part. We should be with him when he wakes, but they don’t let you in that part. Why not? I should insist and be a crazy mama. Did I pray with him before he left? Does he have Jesus in his heart? My grandmother prayed with me when I was five, why haven’t I done it yet. What is this kind of faith I have where I am only trying to secure his future, so to speak?
I didn’t do enough. I was too careless. Too confident everything will be fine. This is not the time to be so cool.
Tolga came back to the room and was clearly feeling the same as I - he closed the door and broke down crying. “He’s too little.”
No comments:
Post a Comment