A few weeks ago, I posted about the anxiety that comes along with becoming a parent. Almost immediately after that post, that fear and anxiety were replaced by something much more serious. My son woke up covered with tiny red pinpricks and unexplainable bruises all over his body. Thinking I was probably worried about nothing, I made him an appointment with his doctor for later that day. As we waited for time to leave, however, more bruises began to appear, some even inside his mouth. I picked him up to place him on the bed for a closer look, and he cried out that I had hurt him. My heart dropped as I looked down to where I had grabbed him under the arms as I usually do to lift him. There, under his left arm, was a new bruise in the perfect shape and size of my thumb. I was careful to keep my expression blank lest I scare him, but I knew at this point that something was seriously wrong.
When we finally saw the nurse practitioner, she took one look at him before excusing herself. When she returned, it was with a doctor whom we have never seen, and they stood over him, prodding his belly and discussing which labs to order. The next thing I knew, I was racing him out of the office and down to the Pediatric ER, trying to remain calm enough to get us there in one piece.
After several terrifying hours waiting for lab tests in the ER, all the while fearing he had leukemia, we were told he had Idiopathic Thrombocytopenic Purpura (ITP). There is no way to say for sure what caused it, but his immune system was destroying his platelets, the cells involved in blood clotting. This was why any slight injury resulted in such dark bruises. The rash I had seen was actually dozens of tiny capillaries leaking blood. A healthy person normally has over 100,000 platelets, but his were only 4,000. The doctor was concerned about the risk of spontaneous bleeding in his brain, and he was immediately admitted to the pediatric hematology ward.
I now know that there is a level of fear that goes beyond panic to something more akin to a robotic state. There was my baby in the middle of a big hospital bed, covered in bruises, as the doctors—yes, now we had an entire team—discussed how he might have to be tied down if he would not leave his lines alone during the twelve hour treatment. It really became more than my mind could grasp. At some point I remember explaining to him that the IV port was for the medicine that would make him better, that it would make the bruises go away, but it would have to stay in his arm overnight. I did not really expect him to understand, but he never once tried to take it out.
He was released two days after being admitted, but his platelet level was still low enough that any injury he received could have been very serious. There were no more worries about proper diet, planned activities, or potty training. Instead, I agonized over every piece of furniture or toy that might trip him up and whether it was worth the risk of driving to the grocery store when a car accident could prove so disastrous for him in that condition. I agonized to pad the area around his bed and brought out the baby monitor in case he might fall in the night.
His subsequent checkup with the doctor has since shown that his platelets are back up, but he will have to be closely monitored over the next six months to make certain they stay that way. My heart goes out to those parents and their children whose stay is much longer and so much more traumatic. The things those children must endure are horrifying, but they somehow hold on to their sense of wonder.
I also could never thank the hospital staff enough for the wonderful job they do and am so grateful for how they helped him not to be afraid at the same time they were fixing his body.
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