This story is a hard one to process. This is a space where I mostly share moments of joy (I shared my “why” for this blog here), and while it’s not quite a “mommy blog,” I do share snippets of motherhood once in awhile. Today I’m going to share what was hands-down, the hardest month in my life. It’s a long one, and I feel like it might need a Trigger Warning for some intense moments because it is a break from my usual sunny posts I share here. Here it goes…
The above picture was a story I shared on Instagram, asking for prayers for my oldest, Alejandro, on June 4. The day before, I found him crying in his bed with some intense headaches and sensitivity to light. He uses glasses so we were used to some on/off headaches but this was completely different. We turned off all the lights for him that evening, kept vigil with him, and let him sleep in our bed that night after a quick convo with the nurse line. I was advised that if he should become dizzy or start vomiting, to take him in to the ER. The next morning, he woke up and immediately began to throw up. I called the nurse again, and prepared to take him 6 minutes away to our hospital. I was also concerned because I had a nursing 10 month-old who relied on me, but my husband Matt couldn’t take my place – you see, he’d been experiencing some concerning symptoms along with extreme weakness/dizziness, and faster-than-normal weight loss. He was convinced it was a side effect of his blood pressure med, so he was advised by his doctor to wean off of it and he was waiting to feel better. So I left with Alejandro and we spent some hours at the ER, where they gave him some anti-nausea meds and a combo of pain meds which seemed to help calm things down. The doctor seemed unconcerned and was ready to send us home. “Are you sure?” I asked. “I have 6 kids and I’ve never seen this before.” “No offense, but since you have 6 kids, it could be he’s asking for attention,” the doctor replied.
My cheeks burned with humiliation but I also wanted to not get upset when I needed this doctor’s help. “Really?” I said. “I found him crying ALONE in his bed. He wasn’t asking for attention. And vomiting? Vomiting repeatedly for attention?” He shrugged. I asked about a CT scan but the doctor impressed upon me that he didn’t see any signs of a head injury, and exposing him to the scan could be unnecessarily dangerous (increased cancer risk). After calling my sister (a new resident doctor herself) for her opinion, I asked for at least some blood tests and he agreed, however nothing was found and we went home. I shared this message on IG that night:
The next day (Monday), things seemed improved but by the afternoon Alejandro couldn’t stop vomiting. It became constant and I called my mom crying to ask for prayers. Back to the ER. I take a wrong turn as he continues to vomit beside me in the van. We finally make it to the entrance and I leave him to grab a wheelchair since I can’t carry him because he’s 4’10 (tall for his age). They let me park my van right at the entrance and I wheel him in, where he continues to vomit. I’m praying that they’ll let us in ahead of the other adults sitting patiently in the waiting room and I feel so angry that we’re going through this. I blurt out a prayer in my mind to the baby that I lost “Christopher, please. You get your brother admitted.” Immediately a nurse comes out and tells us they can take us ahead of the other patients because he looks so bad. Everyone, including the doctor who walks in (different one from the night before, thank goodness) looks gravely at Alejandro and the attending tells them to give us a triage room immediately because Alejandro looks so much worse than the day before. Our new doctor orders a head CT scan immediately, and they set up an iv line with meds. As they wheel him to the scan, Alejandro looks so drawn and still on the bed with his eyes closed, resting. Something in me knows that this is different and serious. I try to calm down the imaginary flash in my mind where I see a future that I don’t want. The guttural feeling in the pit of my stomach where I can’t stop the screams. I’m not a superstitious person, but I put it out of my mind and refuse to think about it, as if imagining it could make it so.
My dad arrives to sit with us in triage. Alejandro is smiling and talking again, giving us all kinds of animal and bug facts that he’s been researching at home (the meds are working). The CT scan comes back normal and we’re told the only thing that the blood tests show is a common virus. We get ready to leave, when Alejandro asks for a wheelchair because he said he doesn’t feel well when he walks. Our doctor doesn’t like this so he gives some juice and has him walk around a bit. At this point it’s so late into the night, and we’re all tired + ready to go home and recover. Alejo walks for the doctor and we leave. My dad picks up some more Zofran and pain medicine that was prescribed and we head home. So that’s that, we think…
We schedule some follow-up appointments and Alejandro seems better, walking around some more, although there is something off about him – I can’t quite put my finger on it, but he seems a little more distracted than usual and just not quite back to himself. We thank God he is able to keep some food down and he goes a few days without meds.
The next week is a blur – Alejandro spends more time resting than we’re used to. He takes breaks from playing and seems overall down. We try to get him up and consider that maybe he’s traumatized? Depressed? And then Matt’s health starts to take a turn. He’s not able to leave his bed hardly at all, and his vision has become blurry. I take over with the kids, I do the shopping, and honestly don’t have much time between all the solo parenting work to consider what’s going on with him, but I start realizing that something must be wrong. The thing is, we’re no strangers to stuff happening with Matt. He has PTSD, with a nervous breakdown happening a couple of years ago – so he has difficult moments already. He’d been trying to work on his health more this past year so Matt’s been getting regular check-ups, monitoring his heart and blood levels. But I start wondering if maybe he has diabetes. My grandmother had it and I’m vaguely familiar with the signs. The fatigue, the constant raging thirst/intensely dry mouth, vision changes, etc. I ask Matt to get his blood checked since the doctor has one ordered for his physical in a few months. It would be early, but then we can find out if there’s something there. As the days progress and he hasn’t gotten it done, I see his health decline. I look up “how long can a diabetic last without insulin?” and read with panic at what can happen if a diabetic goes untreated. He orders a cheap blood sugar monitor from Amazon and it reads 83 but I’m not convinced. I don’t like to put my foot down, but I decide that I get to pull my wife card now. “Your body is shutting down, Matt. You are going to do this for me. You’re going to get your blood drawn tomorrow.” So he did. And we waited anxiously for the results, which took an extra day. The results finally come on Thursday morning, the 15th of June. For reference, a normal fasting blood sugar is 99 or lower. Matt’s was well over 400.
I called my parents to come watch the kids so I could take Matt to the ER where they admitted him for diabetic ketoacidosis. As you can imagine, this was extremely scary. Matt had these symptoms for weeks before we had a diagnosis and people don’t often make it that long without serious complications or worse. My parents came each day so I could go back and forth from the hospital and still be with my kids and the baby in the mornings & night. It was all very overwhelming, learning what Matt’s new normal would be like living with diabetic meds, insulin, and a new diet. I shared this video on IG that night.
Matt was a model patient, and was determined that with this new chance he’d been given, he was going to work hard and we were going to be okay. I wanted to feel this too, but I had this nagging thought pulling at me while visiting Matt at the hospital. My dad told me over the phone he thought maybe Alejandro was depressed because he wasn’t himself and wanted to lie down a lot. I had even tried baking with him the night before, which he loves to do, but he had to take breaks and his head was still hurting.
The morning Matt was discharged (June 17), I woke up early and prepared to pick him up. The kids were asleep in my bed. I was running around changing diapers and getting the house ready for my parents to come, when I heard it again. Alejandro was vomiting uncontrollably.
To be continued…