Tuesday in Retrospect
It was a LONG day. Madalyn only had two of her three scheduled tests, (I'll expound on that in a minute.) She was overall VERY brave and cooperative and quite a trooper. The nurses told her, "We'll have you back, any day." (Thanks, but no thanks.) But she delighted all the techs and nurses; told them all kinds of stories and facts and so on...
I guess I should start from the beginning. I woke up to Jack's cry, NOT my alarm as I had set it wrong, and we were 45 minutes late. That didn't seem to matter because nothing's exact there. They fit you in as it suits them. So we arrived hurried, Madalyn had two cups of Jello and lots of "Ator Gade" in the waiting room (only clear liquids) and I had nothing because I was filling out paperwork. I'm hypoglycemic, so not good. But we had made it there and I was content. The printer wasn't working at the admitting office, so we were super-late to the urology department. Didn't matter, come to find out, but was stressful enough to take a toll on me until we arrived and were told 'no matter.'
We waited a lot in there. Madalyn asked for food and drink and her time for that was up, even for the liquids, so I distracted her with Hello Kitty stickers and some new knock-off My Little Pony figures from Walgreens.
She was called in for the ultrasound and was very cooperative; precious, really, as she talked with the tech. The tech said her kidneys looked good and she didn't see any damage. Praise God!
We waited more in the waiting room, and then the morning took a rough turn when they called us back to sign papers and Madalyn, who was past the 'allowed to have liquids' hour, took a swig of her drink from the diaper bag while I was talking with the nurse. Another nurse asked, "isn't she being sedated," and we all stared at eachother, knowing this really stunk things up as her sedation would have to be changed to a different time.
They decided to go ahead and inject the dye before it expired right then and there through an IV tube they'd leave in until later, so that she could fit into the only slot for xrays that would still suit the schedule she was on- (I don't know, still doesn't make sense to me-) but her VCUG would have to be rescheduled. I nearly cried when they at first were going to cancel the sedation- I hadn't starved her all morning for nothing, gosh darn-it!! and I think they could see I was about to cry and immediately became accommodating.
But then it got much uglier when they went to get the IV n and couldn't find her vein! They poked a needle around in her hand and foot before finally succeeding on her other hand! It took three different nurses trying! She screamed bloody murder while three of us held her and called for her daddy! :( It was one of those awful, throaty, 'help, I'm being tortured" screams and when she called for daddy I couldn't help but think, 'DADDY? DADDY! I'm here suffering through this with you and you're calling for daddy?!' And that thought was followed with no small amount of guilt because this was precisely why she was calling for daddy; she thought I was part of the interrogation team.
It was also prolonged because between stabbing her they were surveying this hand and that foot, and then the hand again, looking for the best vein and each time she thought she was being stabbed because the restraint felt the same. "No more SCREEEW-DRIIIVERS," she yelled.
After that, I taught her the word needles, and she repeated for the following 6 hours "no more needles?" shaking her head, "No more needles," she answered herself with reassurance, or "No more ouwies? No more ouwies." (How do you spell that- owies?)
And it was a LOT of waiting after this, with no food or drink, in a room with no windows... till her test at 1:15, from 9:30 to 1: 15 we waited.
"I'm all done with tests?" she'd ask.
"No, one more, I said. But you're all done with owies. All you have to do for this test is sleep," and she leaned her head against my shoulder and clamped her eyelids tightly. "No," I laughed, "they'll give you medicine to help you sleep."
"Okay!" she said. (She takes medicine every night with no problem. That she could handle.)
At about 12:30 Shaun surprised us. I'm not sure how he found us, but he came on his lunch break and Madalyn was so excited to see him. They visited and then he had to disappear again before her x-rays. On his way out some nurse chased him down yelling "Doctor! Doctor!" It finally got so loud he spun around and looked at her. "Doctor, come with me!" she said looking right into his face.
"No," he said and lifted his work identity tag from his neck displaying Mickey Mouse ears, "Disney," he corrected her.
"Oh," she said, and scurried off to find a real doctor. I told Shaun this means he's really not a kid anymore.
Shortly after he left, we were called in for the Renal Scan. Madalyn was put on a thin table with curved sides to cradle her body. It looked like the inside of a casket and she was NOT sure about it, but tried to obey instructions. She told one tech, "I saw my daddy, he went back to work at Cinderelli's house, now are you gonna give me my sleep medicine?" Everyone laughed and told her she was very bright and then the other tech asked her if she knew what the bandage around her IV was called and she nodded, "Yes, that's called stripes," she said confidently.
"I did not know that," exclaimed the lady. She then unwrapped her stripes and started the sedation medication while Madalyn panted nervously asking repeatedly, "No needles? No needles? No needles?" shaking her head emphatically to answer her own question.
She relaxed a bit as the medication set in. She agreed to some lullabies and I stroked her hair while her eyes tried to stay open. The second I stopped stroking they closed for good and she was out. She was so tired from a long morning that it only took 2 mg and could've taken 4-6. The less medicine the better, so that was good, although I worried that she'd wake up in the middle and we'd have to start all over.
She didn't.
I watched the HUGE x-ray machine do circles in small fractions around her sleeping body for an hour and a half with her arms bound behind her head. She woke up from the sedation cranky and starving and traumatized, still asking "no more owies? No more needles? I'm all done? All Done! No more owies? No more?" We, (the techs and I,) promised and promised her no more, but she clearly didn't believe us.
The nuclear tech wasn't allowed to say anything, but I asked what they were looking for with this test, and she told me "black spots," and although I'm not qualified AT ALL to assess what I was looking at, I didn't see a single speck of black anywhere.
It sure was amazing, though, that they can inject a dye into her body that is attracted to her kidneys for filtration- that it glows all over her body, but like a light bulb there in the kidneys and bladder on the screen. it was amazing to see her little body lit up on that screen, and then the images that they are left with after removing the noise and other tissues; perfect three dimensional pictures that spin around of her kidneys, one bigger than the other, and just like kidney beans. The tech explained they splice it into hundreds of slices three ways, vertically and horizontally and another, and examine each "slice." She showed them to me and still, I didn't see any black. I am so thankful that even if there is scarring that I can't see, her kidneys certainly aren't ridden with it. Praise the LORD!
The VCUG test will tell us much, much more Thursday about the grade and severity of the condition, IF it still exists, and IF the LORD hasn't healed her in full. I really used to wonder back a year ago, when I was ridden with anxiety and gave it over in prayer along with many other people, if perhaps He healed her right then and there a year ago, only we wouldn't know until now.
Thursday will answer us.
Mostly, though, as we sat for each test and waited and waited, as she picked special Bandaids of every type and character and stickers and toys from the treasure boxes, and as the x-ray machine circled her fragile little body, I couldn't help but be overwhelmed with gratitude because some children spend their lives this way, and she doesn't. She won't even remember it. I now have a grave respect and admiration for the staff there at Arnold Palmer, who lavish these children with kindness, love, and expertise; who aren't afraid to face the sadness because it it is their ministry to help those in need, God bless them.
God, bless each one of them and leave them lacking nothing to perform what is required of them.
