My babys' journey, part 1

You know those stories you always here about someone else's kid getting in a car accident or someone else's kid losing an arm due to some stupid accident? Funny thing about those stories; for some people those aren't stories about someone else's kid, they're about their own child.

Daddy M and I are now one of those people you here about. I can honestly say right now, in my 36- hour sleep deprived brain, that I would never want anyone to experience what we are going through.

Friday night we went up to A's Grammie and papa's house to stay overnight and play in the snow.

Friday night is when it all started.

My little man and I went to bed like any other night. Except he and I didn't sleep. He screamed, I tried to feed him, but he could barely latch over the pain. When he did sleep, he was snuggled on my chest and I'd pound on his back to comfort him. My night with him was filled with little restless whimpers, endless crying and sore wrists from patting his back for hours on end.

When morning finally came he and I were pretty spent, so daddy took over for a second. We gave him a blessing. I held him in my arms while his daddy and papa blessed him. By this point, it seemed to us like he was either reacting poorly to my breastmilk or he had the flu. The rest of the day consisted of me and A hanging out inside with Grammie while my other children and daddy played out in the snow.
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Our day ended with us playing card games with family around 5. A still slept on my chest, struggling to relax. Daddy would switch with me when my arms, wrist and hands began to hurt from continual rocking and back patting. After 4 hours of unrelenting crying from him, no matter what we tried, we took him to the instacare.

It was 9:30pm on Saturday by this time.

After telling the instacare his symptoms, they sent us to the ER without even seeing him.

We were admitted right away. What a blessing an empty ER is. They got us in a room, weighed him, measured him, and asked us what was going on. We told them he was still screaming and worsened whenever someone touched him. He was extremely pale. His breathing was shallow. He was still unable to latch to eat. And he experienced these jolts of pain that would rock through his body. Daddy got really good at knowing when they were coming and would hold him tight just as they hit his little body. It helped a little.

It must have been 11pm by the time the doc ordered an x-ray of his chest and abdomen. A was exhausted and it hurt my heart to have him be put in this arcaic contraption for his x-ray. He had to sit on this bicycle-like seat, they made us lift his arms above his head and positioned these curved plastic pieces around his chest. He was so tired he could barely hold his head up or keep his eyes open. So we tried to hold him in this sitting position while he deliriously cried.

Once we finished I held him close, desperately trying to comfort him.

We waited a little while for the doc to read the x-ray. He saw nothing concerning, telling us it was colic, but he still had to wait for the radiologist to read it before we could go home.

It was midnight. We were exhausted. It took the radiologist an hour to finally read his x-ray. Apparently she was picking up her spouse from the airport in SLC, an hour away. I was pissed. While we waited they tried to draw blood samples from him. They couldn't find a good vein and wouldn't stop stabbing him. He was poked on both hands, both elbows, both feet, and his scalp. Screaming in pain every time. It was torturous to watch. At one point they got one in his head and in order to get blood from it they actually wanted him to cry. ---uhm, no. Leave my baby alone.--- he doesn't bleed very well, so the nurse was actually massaging around the I.V to get it to bleed.

After they finishedshe poking him, they wanted a urine sample and straight cath'd him.

My heart was breaking for him. My greatest desire at this point was to hold him and make all the hurt go away. And possibly take out some mean nurse's for poking my baby over and over.

Someone read the x-ray and didn't agree with the doc. Something didn't look right. They thought it
was a telescoping bowel. An ultrasound was ordered.

1am.

Ultrasound didn't look right. But a telescoping bowel didn't fit what the tech was looking at. We're sitting there watching her take pictures of his abdomen and after about 10 minutes of her doing this she looks at daddy and I and says, " I don't want to freak you guys out, but you're going to find out anyway. There's a mass in his abdomen. I can't say more than that because I don't know more."

I honestly tried my best to NOT freak out....but come on. The first thing that popped up in my mind was --cancer-- my beautiful little baby has cancer. This can't be happening.

When she was done, I took him in my arms and held him close. And cried.

We went back to our room and tried to absorb the information we'd just been given. Unfortunately for me, I had to go home to pump. It was quite the miracle that I made it home considering I was worse than a spewing faucet and had zero visibility through my tears.

I wasn't home more than 10 minutes when the phone rang. Daddy called, "they're transferring him to Primary Children's, you need to grab what you think we need and get back here as soon as possible."

My insides were numb. My thoughts were numb. My heart was broken. I couldn't think.