Not again...

blogger-image--1885546848.jpgI didn't get to write last week...  I was with my son in our local children's hospital after he developed an autoimmune thingy.

First while being assessed in emergency after some four hours of the usual waiting and it's 2am, the doctors tell me even though he isn't a typical presentation they suspect something called Kawasaki's Disease, and the biggest concern is if it goes on too long it can cause issues with the coronary artery.

Of course, this heart-issue widow hears with respect to her only child:  "this disease is easily treated however you need to know it   can cause issues with his heart blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah.

After a very long, stressful night with that rattling through my brain, thinking not again, I can't go through this again, it turns out, yes the treatment is very easy and is effective surprisingly quickly.  

One day he's curled up on the bed with a raging fever, infection around his eye, cracked lips, swollen tongue, peeling fingers and all-out miserable.  12 hours later after an overnight course of immunoglobulin and IV antibiotics, everything's cleared or clearing up and I'm yelling "John, stop jumping on the bed!"

On the up side, they run an echocardiogram just to make sure there are no issues with his heart from this episode (John now thinks he has a duck in his chest from the audio part of the scan), and they were extra cautious given the family history.

All clear.  Relief.

But the aftermath has been interesting.  John's started saying he misses Daddy.  

A couple of mornings later, there was a little vignette: while I was making his breakfast he was looking at the photos of Ian around the house, very sad in his demeanour and saying "I miss Daddy", and I tell him I miss Daddy very much, too.  The microwave beeps, he perks right up  "Yeah, my porridge is ready" and skips off for breakfast.  

If only it was that easy for me.

Photo - John in hospital after a visit from the clown doctors.


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