Half a Step Over

Joy…Fear…Joy

I have heard it said that if we knew what fun grandchildren were we would have had them sooner. My husband even quoted that a week or so ago. All I know is that I love my grandchildren—we have one of each—and lately, I am unbelievable grateful to have them.

My granddaughter was born in fall 2013, and I was there as her parents came home, after a small snow event. It was hysterical to take her home in the stroller—the hospital was only a couple of blocks from their home—while there was snow on the grass and the sidewalks were just a little damp. I think she had at least 4 blankets piled above her and a wool cap pulled down on her head. Just taking her out of the stroller on arrival wasn’t easy. She is now a strong happy child and we revel in her love of life.

My grandson was born in December and this time my daughter had a better feel for what she needed to do afterwards and told us what she wanted us to do. We flew out 2 days later and spent several days just holding him and his sister, playing, and generally having a wonderful time. My mother and sister came later in the week to meet him, and to attend the bris. What no one could see coming was that the bris had to be delayed. My daughter called us before dawn that day to see if I would go with her to the hospital with him. He had decided to stop eating and there seemed to be something very wrong. My husband answered the phone and before he had two sentences out, I was out of bed and getting dressed. Before the call could be done I was fully dressed and waiting with my coat to find out what time I should be downstairs. Needless to say, I was early.

The only good thing about getting to a hospital at that hour is that parking is really easy. The rest, not so much. He was now a baby who looked like even he was afraid. He still didn’t want to eat but his vitals were fine. Shifts changed and we had a new doctor who was very determined to figure out what was going on, and he still was obviously ill. You know that things are bad when a baby doesn’t complain about the efforts to get a spinal tap. Yet, he was still very calm. You would think that a week-old child who is demonstrably ill would be crying constantly. He didn’t, and I’m afraid that he might not have had the strength to do so. That alone is terrifying.

Ultimately, they moved him to the pediatrics ward, which had doctors who knew how to get liquid into him and how to hit a spinal tap on the first try. But they still didn’t know what it was, although they were quite sure it was viral. (And to give everyone their due, this children’s hospital took care not only of him but also of his parents, patiently answering any and all questions from them, and even from the extended family.) By the next morning, he was having seizures, which necessitated more tests, heavy-duty medicines to stop the seizures, and more consultations. And then they moved him to the ICU. We could go into the room, but first there was hand washing, and putting on gowns, gloves, and masks. He must have been wondering who these creatures were.

Success at last! 

It took 3 days but there was an answer. Someone from the Infections Diseases department figured it out. He had an extremely rare virus that no one had heard of, and had never been seen in that hospital, or even, I suspect, that city. Once they knew who to call, everything started to change quickly. They knew what to do, they knew what to look for that might be causing the seizures. This virus can have one of two side effects, encephalitis or meningitis, which you really don’t want but can be treated. Now all of the other antibiotics that they had tried could be removed and actually healing could happen. Five days later you could see improvement almost by the hour. It was like a miracle.

They were able to bring him home 8 days after he was hospitalized--another miracle since the doctors thought he’d be there for 3 weeks. I had had a cold that week and didn’t find out until close to the end of the stay just how it had looked to see him with so many tubes and wires attached, and monitors beating. I gather it was heart wrenching. Yet, as he neared the end of his stay I was able to go in and got a picture of him looking right at me as if to say, “You looking at me, lady?” And yes, he came home with tubes attached to a portable oxygen tank but it was small, had a shoulder strap, and was the least thing to do for him. Besides, all babies need funky accessories.

Two weeks later we had the bris and I said to the rabbi, “How many of these do you have with an oxygen tank lying next to the child during the ceremonies?” and was stunned by his answer. Turns out that when you live at a higher elevation it’s not that uncommon for a newborn to come home with a portable oxygen tank. He never blinked at it, although at a month old the ceremony itself is a little harder to do.

Today, my grandson is off the oxygen and is a happy, healthy, constantly smiling child who is a joy to his family and all who meet him. My daughter and son-in-law sleep better at night, and his big sister kisses him as she walks past. As I said at the start, if we had known how much fun it was to have grandchildren, we would have done it sooner.

Baruch Ha-shem.