It’s Sunday morning and I’d rather be reading my newspaper, sitting in my chair at home and drinking coffee out of my OTN mug. Instead, I’m sitting in the chair I used as a bed last night, drinking coffee from a Styrofoam cup in room 5401 on the fifth floor of the Memorial wing at Crouse Hospital having just endured our sixth visit from a health professional since 6:30 this morning (it’s 8:12am as I start to write this) checking in on my daughter Anita. I guess I shouldn’t use the word “endured” because that makes it sound like they are bothersome or otherwise not welcome. Nothing could be further from the truth. They have all been, since we arrived Thursday evening, thoroughly professional, compassionate and accommodating.
The back-story of why I’m here is that in early March my daughter contracted the flu (no, not that flu) and was out of school for most of the week. Anita is a very healthy kid but the cough, fever and other flu symptoms really floored her. About a week after that she contracted a 24-hour stomach bug. A nasty one, two punch.
Around the same time she developed a swollen lymph gland, which we, her mother and I, determined was just a reaction to the illnesses. No sweat we thought. She exhibited NO other symptoms. She was eating, sleeping and laughing as usual. But a couple of weeks later Anita asks, “Shouldn’t this (pointing to the gland) be going down?”
That first trip to her pediatrician was the start of a many visits to many doctors and many tests. All along the way we were told that her tests indicate “nothing worrisome.” Her blood work showed a healthy kid, no reason for alarm but . . . there was a reason for silent, personal alarm; they could not definitively say what it wasn’t.
Her pediatrician “doesn’t like the way it looks” so we schedule an appointment with an ear, nose and throat doctor. I remember pulling into the parking lot and Anita sees the sign at the new doctor’s office and she says, “Surgeon?” I told her not to fear, they wouldn’t be performing surgery on her there although her pediatrician did prepare me for the possibility that they might do a biopsy.
The first appointment with Dr. Reynders went well in that she reassured me that she was very gentle, smart and thorough. Good traits in a doctor. She ordered a round of antibiotics to see if that might take the gland back to normal but it did nothing. Next step was a fine needle aspiration or FNA. Simply put, a needle is inserted into the infected area and tissue is extracted for examination under a microscope. Ever have a needle inserted into your neck just below the jaw? I haven’t but now my 14-year-old daughter has. The results? Nothing worrisome except this thing is big and isn’t going away.
Next a CT scan and afterwards it showed, again, nothing worrisome. Another round of antibiotics, still nothing. While I was out of town last week Dr. Reynders scheduled what we thought was simply an ultrasound but rather, it was an ultrasound “guided” fine needle aspiration. Second time this kid has had a needle stuck in her neck.
So last Thursday the gland, which has now become very red and scaly, starts to leak a little. A call to the doctor, a visit to Dr. Reynders office and here we sit, in the hospital.
Anita is allowed “nothing by mouth” after midnight because she will likely have a procedure on Friday that will get rid of this thing. Dr. Reynders explains that the gland is “pointing” and that the scans and tests indicate an abscess that needs to be removed. The procedure is short and simple but will require her to be moved to the operating room and placed under anesthesia. Anita is justifiably nervous. We assure her that she won’t feel a thing because there is “nothing worrisome.”
But Dr. Reynders has patients all day Friday and will not be able to do the procedure until later that day or early evening. Anita, who is as skinny as a rail, eats like a horse. No food all day is a real struggle for her. In support, I do not eat until she eats.
Thinking the procedure won’t occur until 7 or so that night, I run home around 4:30 to get our other daughter Rachel and bring her back to the hospital. While I stop at the P&C to get a little cash, my wife calls to let me know they started getting Anita ready. I rush back to the hospital only to find that she’s in the OR getting an anesthetic, being put to sleep so a surgeon can slice that nasty gland into submission and excise it.
While this happens, I wait. And go to a very bad place. What if there is something worrisome in there? I have a little experience with that place and I’d rather not be there, it’s a place I’ve been before with my father. But when it’s your 14-year-old daughter, well, you get the idea.
Surgery is over, Dr. Reynders comes to see us and tells her in graphic detail what the mass looked like, what she did to get it out and her expected outcome. Did I mention that while gentle, smart and thorough she’s also very descriptive? I don’t find that objectionable at all but not sure my wife was all that thrilled with the description of what the abscess looked like. But I digress . . . Dr. Reynders is pleased that she decided to do the procedure in the OR as opposed to bedside because the abscess was a little more invasive that what she thought. The abscess wasn’t all that unusual; the gland was simply doing its job. All in all, it went well, “nothing worrisome.” Right now Anita has a tube in the “cavity” so it can drain and not fill up again. The doctor wants us to stay through to Monday so she can be sure it’ll heal properly. Hopefully we’ll go home tomorrow.
I am really grateful to Dr. Reynders. I am lucky she decided one day to be a doctor. I am fortunate that this community has many caring and deeply committed health professionals. I am appreciative that we have excellent health insurance. I am one lucky person today because of all of those things and mostly, because it doesn’t appear that there is anything “worrisome” with Anita’s outcome.
So here I sit, Sunday morning and now it’s almost 9:20 AM, two more visits by health professionals since I started writing. Poor kid needs some sleep. And I need some coffee.