Ah, the day of the discharge…busy, hectic, chaotic….
We needed to go home with an I.V. pump, I.V fluids, a new formula bag (I forgot my spare) and new meds. I needed to be trained on said I.V. equipment AND we needed to be out by 2:00 in order to make our mitochondrial appointment. This appointment has been on the books for five months…..oh we’re making this appointment.
This is a lot to coordinate on a Monday morning.
1:00- Seizure sign, balloons, flowers, cookies, cards, clothes and tooth brush are packed in the Malibu.
1:30- Our I.V. pump arrives but the tubing was missing. You can’t run an I.V. without it so our in-home care rep left to retrieve our missing parts. We went to our mito appt….which lasted three hours. Our home care rep came into the meeting with the pump, tubing, a manual, the 24-hour number and a ‘good luck’.
Hmmmm….so much for a little training before leaving the hospital….
5:00- We’re back up in our room collecting the last of our things to go home. I switch all of Samantha’s feeding over to our home pump and turn it on. We are ready, we are finally, finally, outta here. I wheel Samantha out while waving goodbye to our wonderful 8th floor team.
5:10- I realize that I turned the pump on but I never reset the rate of the pump. The rate is much, much slower for her new ‘j’ tube (25 mls an hour vs 250 mls an hour) I have just dumped 50 mls. of liquid into Samantha’s small intestine.
5:11- I curse
5:12- Still cursing
While I am cursing, I do turn her pump off and decide to keep it off for the next couple of hours to give her small intestine a rest. Samantha, bless her little heart, seems no worse for the wear. She gives me a big grin.
I love this child.
5:13- Still cursing
5:13 and 30 seconds: cursing a little more
5:14- Rattled by my mistake and a bit run down from a three hour appointment, I decide I can’t drive home without a coffee. While standing in line for said coffee, the 12 year-old behind me gets in my face with his sock-puppet…..
“Sock puppet stare down!” He says to me while holding this dirty sock with button eyes inches from my face. He then decides to sock-puppet stare down Samantha.
Bear in mind, I am still reeling from my 50 ml dump into Samantha’s gut. I look at sock-puppet boy and try to steer Samantha’s stroller out of sock-puppet range.
5:15- I can’t decide who I would like to sock puppet smack down more…. our cute little 12 year old or his mother who is conveniently on the phone and ignoring the whole situation; the sock puppet attack on my newly discharged, somewhat bloated daughter.
This better be a really, really good latte’.
5:21- I decide perhaps I am a bit high strung and probably shouldn’t relate to the public for a day or two.
5:51- Rush hour traffic stress ain’t got nothin’ on hospital stress. I sit happily in the traffic queue and watch my daughter in the mirror. She likes riding next to her huge get-well balloons.
6:25- Home, home, home, thank the bad-mommy-mistake-sock-puppet gods….we are home.