Laser Starlight in the Ultrasound Room

Doctors offices and holding my breath—what I've been up to since last you read from me

A little over two weeks ago, my younger son got sick.

He was weak and tired, and had a spiking fever that came and went. We tucked him up on the couch and he stayed there for three days. No other symptoms—no sniffles, no cough, no sore throat. Just a fever, and some fatigue. We propped him up with bottled juice and an endless stream of documentaries—his favorite thing to do on days when he’s not up for climbing, building, running, etc. 

By day four, he was up again, running around and digging trenches in the yard (his favorite pastime). I felt myself breathe again, not knowing I’d been holding it in for three days. 

But the next day, he ran in from the yard and collapsed on the couch, screaming in pain. 

Where? I said, where did it hurt? He pointed to a spot on his back. He was in total agony. 

We didn’t know what happened—had he strained his back while he was digging? Had he broken it while he was running, jumping, climbing, falling? He said no to all of these. It hurts, he said, it hurts right here—and he pointed to a spot near the top of his pubic bone, just off the spine. We wrapped his little body in a heating pad and told him to try and sleep it off. 

I called my dad (a doctor) and told him every symptom, starting with the fever that had come and gone days before. We went through a list of possibilities. It seemed like either an infection or a muscle strain, but neither one seemed fully explained by his symptoms. 

That night, my son woke up shouting, crying, begging for relief. I propped him up on the couch and held him. He was quaking with pain. I repositioned him, turned up the heating pad, gave him children’s ibuprofen and turned on a documentary about space travel. 

I debated bringing him to the emergency room. In December of last year, we brought him in with influenza. They drew his blood, swabbed his throat, and had him on oxygen all night. We’re still in the process of paying it off, and they didn’t actually do anything to help. I tried to find the part of myself that’s rational—the part that’s not a panicking, googling, hyperventilating mess. The part of myself that’s not a parent, the part of myself that thinks about things like medical bills and payment plans. 

All the while, I’m pacing, googling, debating, forgetting to breathe.