So. I guess my story kinda starts like a lot of other people’s stories. I am a very happily married mother of two GORGEOUS boys. My husband, Jake, is a firefighter and I am madly in love with him. My oldest son, Reese, is about to celebrate his 10th birthday. My baby, Jude, celebrated his first birthday April 14 of this year. This is where things get “not-so-typical”.
Jude got a cold. No biggie, right? We took him to his pediatrician, put him on some cough medicine, suctioned his nose, alternated tylenol and motrin for a low temp. All this makes him really sleepy. We truck on through Christmas and the New Year.
Not much has changed. Jude is still coughing and still has lots of clear sinus drainage. He likes to take long naps in the afternoon with me.
I could hardly get him to stay awake. This cold he has must really be wearing him out. When he’s awake he’s crying. When he’s crying I’m crying. I’m soooo tired. He is waking up every hour or so to have a bottle. After a night or two of this, I get Jake to get up with him. We took him back to his doctor. As soon as the doc sees him, he says we need to take him to the ER immediately. Rather than go to the small hospital near out house, we assumed we should take him to Childrens Hospital in Dallas. We stopped on the way to the hospital at a fire station that a friend of ours works at and had him transport Jude by ambulance. I knew something was really wrong.
Upon arriving at the hospital, Jude was put in the ER’s “asthma” room. He was seen by nurses, techs, PAs, and FINALLY a doctor. A cocky one, I might add. He had the tech suction Jude’s sinuses. Nothing came out. Humph. Wonder what that means? We went back into the ER and the nurses started pushing us to give Jude pedialyte. He sucked down probably 15 ounces, at least. The Doc, and I use this term loosely, tells us Jude has RSV. Humph. Just like every other kid in that ER. Except he doesn’t have a temp. Or congestion in his sinuses. Give him this Amoxil and push that pedialyte. Lots. You don’t want him to get dehydrated he says.
Fast forward 2 days. I have to change Jude’s diaper every hour. He has thrush so bad he can hardly swallow. He will not stop drinking formula. And he cries. And cries. And cries. My husband comes in from work, exhausted, and needs to take a nap. I need to shower. I grab Jude’s little bouncy seat, drag it to the bathroom and prop him up. I no longer step in the shower when Jude vomits. I get out. Get dressed. Wake up my snoring Hubby and tall him something is REALLY wrong. He gets dressed, we pack the bag and head to the hospital. This time, we stay close to home. We drove to Bayolr Hospital in Waxahachie. The nurse takes us straight back. The PA takes a look at sleeping Jude and knows SOMETHING IS REALLY WRONG. He starts stammering on to my husband about DKA and A1c and stuff that I had NEVER heard of. He orders a blood glucose check. The meter topped out at 618. I have never in my life felt so sick and not been sick. Jude was poked and jabbed and pricked everywhere.
My baby has WHAT? Diabetes? He’s only nine months old. Nobody in my family has it. Oh. Crap. He won’t be out of the woods until tomorrow afternoon at the earliest. No. Not my baby. You’re sending him back to Children’s? Oh no, sir, you’re not. We’re not going through that ER again. You better figure something else out. I know that’s a CHILDREN’S hospital but they misdiagnosed Jude by a long shot. You’re kidding. He doesn’t even have RSV? They never even did an RSV test? Huh. I knew that doctor was a jerk.
Thankfully, Jude was sent straight to the Endocrine floor. Jude was treated with the utmost care. Within 48 hours, he was back to himself.
We have been home a few months now and Jude is feeling so much better. We’re still struggling to get it all straight and it’s been a long road. A scary one. Those lows, man, they terrify me. The highs sometimes don’t even register on the meter. You can’t tell by looking at him that his sugar is high. My baby boy is a trooper, though. He hardly flinches for the finger pricks and only cries because I have to hold him still to give him his injections.
We nicknamed im Judius Maximus the Diabetical Spartan. That’s gotta be one of the coolest tough guy names I have ever heard.