Ah well, the visit to Italy isn't going quite as well as I had hoped. On Monday night we got to take the rushed tour and extraordinary long ride to the hospital (thanks to the GPS for not finding the most direct route) with our youngest daughter writhing and crying in pain. Let me start by saying, a parent never likes to see their child in pain nor do they want to ever take their child to the hospital. Now let's compound that situation by being in a foreign country for only 3 weeks, not knowing where you are driving to (what did we do without GPS), and NOT speaking the native tongue, welcome to what has been my world for the last 3 days. Luckily, the Army has an interpreter at the hospital, a patient liaison that translate what you say to the doctor and what the doctor tells you. Bless these people because without them, I would have been worse off than I was and completely and utterly lost. The doctor examined my daughter and after ruling out an UTI (which is common for my daughter) and possible constipation, she called in the pediatric surgeon. My heart jumped to my throat at that moment because the idea of my child needing surgery never even crossed my mind. The ped surgeon walked in, and I swear a couple of the ladies swooned over him. He looked like he was a surfer type surgeon too with his shark tooth necklace and dark tan. He examined our daughter and immediately thought appendicitis. We did blood work, an ultrasound and an xray all within the span of an hour and a half. I was really surprised by the alacrity of the whole situation, we barely had to wait and that was only for the ultrasound physician. My poor husband got a workout that night because he had to keep carrying our 6 yr old all around the hospital. Why we never got a wheel chair or gurney I will never know. By the end of the night and an exhausted and passed out child, we were told she was being admitted for observation and possible appendectomy surgery in the morning. It was all I could do to hold back the tears of fear and frustration.
I spent the night with our daughter and did my best to pantomime my discussions with the nurses. They had to call the patient liaison to translate a few things but we settled in for a few hours of sleep. The poor thing woke up about 30 times in the span of 4 hours. More bloodwork was done at 6am which led to more screaming and crying and an adamant 6 yr old demanding to go home. At 815 the doctors came in, along with the head of the Army surgical team here on post. Thankfully he spoke English and Italian fluently. He gave us a second opinion and then told us she would be having emergency surgery within 2 hours. My worst fear had come to light. What happened over the next few hours was hard on both my husband and I. A friend came to get our oldest daughter and our youngest got wheeled away to have surgery. We were able to go with her to the recovery room area where my scared little 6yr old just started to cry and begged me not to leave her. I cried with her a bot but told her not to be afraid, but I knew she was just as afraid as I was. Another interpreter stayed with her the whole time while both surgeons performed the surgery. But as my daughter was wheeled away from me crying out my name, i couldn't hold back the tears I had been bottling up for the last 15 hours. I was a wreck at that point and as a another family witnessed my break down, I knew that a mother's love for her child overcame every language barrier there was. That lady got my eye and gave a look of pity and strength, she smiled as if she understood my agony. My husband put his arm around me and walked me out of the room. The next two hours seemed like the longest two hours of my life. You have in your mind what they show you on tv, the family in the waiting room, waiting for news on their loved one, hoping that all goes well and dreading the news of anything bad happening. That was us, sitting and waiting, not understanding a word around us, but bonding again as mother and father, parents to a sweet little girl. We both said screw the cost, and called home to family. I think we both needed our parents right then just as much as our daughter needed us.
When the words, "There they are.." come out in English in an all Italian hospital, you know they are for you. The doctors told us the surgery went well and that they got the appendix before it perforated. It was definitely inflamed and needed to be removed. And they were able to do it laproscopically so the scarring would be minimal. Finally, after several long minutes, our daughter was wheeled out and back to her room. It was then, after she was resting comfortably, did I finally leave the hospital alone to head home for a shower and a couple hours of sleep. There was no questioning the fact that I would be staying with her another night. Last night's sleep was better than the first and i think that being exhausted definitely helps. We awoke a few times in the night as my daughter was becoming restless, and the reclining hospital chair I was sleeping in was less than comfortable. The nurses and I tried desperately to talk and a couple of them knew some english. Otherwise, we communicated with hand gestures. Unfortunately, when we woke up today, we were told that there would be two more kids, babies no less, joining us in our room. I was rather displeased about this fact since the whole need for her to stay was to rest and be monitored for any complications. I explained she would not get the rest she needed to recuperate if that happened. Although i did not understand the concept of no privacy in the Italian hospital, i was still taken aback. Later when the nurses returned, along with another doctor, I inquired about the age of the babies, both less than 3 years. Now you and I both know that they would be up half the night upset, crying and in pain. No one in the room would get rest. I again expressed my concern over my daughter's ability to heal properly in that type of environment and asked if she could be released the next day. The doctor said "Oh no, at least 3-4 days. This was an invasive surgery not just a bump." I must have looked at her incredulously and she must have sensed my displeasure at two toddlers joining us because an hour later, they wheeled out one of the crib and replaced it with a second bed. I was then told a 9yr would join us. By the time I left today, we had the 9yr, a 5 yr who would be operated on tomorrow, and my daughter, plus all the family members, in the room. i knew I was doomed to sleep another night there.
Let me say this, there is nothing like an American, a Romanian and an Italian mother all trying to converse and only being able to understand a few words. But we were all there for the same reason, our daughters' needed us during their surgery. I certainly could not begrudge these women the time with their kids nor could I do anything about the situation, except urge my daughter to keep getting up to walk and move the gas through her system. Only then could we have a hope of heading home the next day. I'm a home for a bit resting and getting some household chores done. My husband is at the hospital and I get to spend some time with our other daughter who has graciously been watched over by friends for the last two nights. Keep your fingers crossed the little comes home soon because all she wants is her bed and her pillow. My poor little thing.
No comments:
Post a Comment