72 Hours and Waiting

By
fe•ver

–noun

An abnormal condition of the body, characterized by undue rise in temperature, quickening of the pulse, and disturbance of various body functions.

August 21, 1996, my birthday. I spend the night in the hospital as healthy as could be, no problems. But the next morning I seem unusually irritable and fussy. The nurse says it’s normal, so reluctantly, we go home.

I seem to have no curiosity, no anxiousness, opposed to the night before when I was squirming with a strong quench for knowledge. My Mother holds me, rocks me, tries to nurse me…nothing seems to calm me, as I cry out in discomfort. My Mom then notices how warm I am beginning to feel. My mom and dad take my temperature, 103 and climbing. “Let’s go” my Dad says urgently. Within a matter of seconds, we are rushing back to the hospital we had left, less that an hour prior.

When we get to the hospital, I am taken to the ER and looked at by a doctor, a flash of fear, and confusion crosses his face, “Get an IV in here!” he yells. “This is a baby that should never have left this hospital”.

They take me to room in the back, “You will have to wait out here,” he says hurriedly. My parents are devastated, they sit in the waiting room crying quietly and hugging each other.

Finally the doctor comes out, he speaks slowly and quietly, “Adrian has a strong fever, caused by a so far unknown bacteria or virus. We have him in an incubator in the Intensive Care Unit under constant observation. He will remain there for the next 72 hours. You may see him now.”

My parents walk with a growing pace as the doctor leads them to the ICU. They walk slowly to the rounded piece of hollow plastic. They let my parents touch me and try to reassure them that everything is going to be fine. The stare at my peaceful face, hoping everything really will be fine. Finally my parents calm down enough to notice the soft humming noise of the incubator.

My dad is exhausted, so he goes back home. My mom feels the strong need to stay with her tiny newborn and is given a reclining chair in which to sleep next to my, “Space-age cradle.”

The next morning my dad comes back and the doctors inject me with huge amounts of antibiotics, then gradually, I start to improve.

After three long days of rest I become a normal happy baby. With curiosity seeping through my body, I grow into a healthy kid, and never see any signs of the mystery illness again.
This event makes me feel grateful that I am alive today, and hope I will never go through that scary of an experience again.





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Puppylove911 said...
Oct. 12, 2008 at 6:00 pm
i am sorry
 
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