Here We Go Again

After three months of no episodes, I forgot all about the issues with Christopher's heart. (Click here and here and here if you don't know what I'm talking about.)

Well, on November 30 I'm cooking dinner and Chris comes in all cheerful like and says, "My heart's beating fast!"

Oh, right! It took me a second to get my wits about me and grab a timer so I could finally get a pulse on these babies. I set the timer for ten seconds, put my ear to his chest, and counted.

It was hard to keep up.

I counted 45 beats in 10 seconds, though I may have missed one or two. Anyway, that's a pulse of 270.

That's kinda high.

By the time I did my calculations and wrote that number down the episode was over. I went online to see if I could find anything about that kind of pulse. Reading through the articles about WPW Syndrome and all the symptoms kids can have while they're having an episode reminded me I'm supposed to ask him if he feels any pain in his chest.

So I ask Chris, "Did your chest hurt?"

Chris: "Yes."

But he hadn't been acting like he was in pain, so I said, "Did it hurt or did it feel funny?"

Chris: "It felt funny."

Hmmm. "Did it feel funny or did it hurt?"

Chris: "It hurt."

Okay.

Through all this though, he keeps running his finger up his breastbone to indicate where he felt... something. He said, "Almost up to here" indicating the hollow of his throat.

I tried a different word. "Did it feel like pressure?" Brian then puts his thumb on Christopher's shoulder and presses on it. "Did it feel like that?"

Again, Chris says yes and again runs his finger up his breastbone and says, "almost to here." Okay, I know my child well enough to know that he definitely felt something, but he just doesn't know the word to use.

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Another common symptom is dizzyness, lightheadedness, etc so I asked Chris about his head and he said that all felt fine. Good enough.

I called the doctor to give them the long-awaited pulse and they want to see him. End result?

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Chris is now on heart medication, which we cut in half so he can take part in the morning and part at night. The doctor isn't crazy about that pulse. Nor does he like whatever it is Chris is feeling in his chest, so he wants to suppress the episodes. Chris will take this medication for 6 months to a year, then we'll take him off it and see how he does. The idea is to see if he'll grow out of it on his own, something I'm willing to try if that spares him the surgery.

The funnest part was when the doctor told me that if these episodes get up to 15 minutes, we have to take him to the ER so they can stop it.

The next funnest part was making sure anybody who's ever in charge of Chris when we're not around knows about this.

Maybe "fun" isn't the right word.

But you know, even though I did allow myself the time I needed to feel my emotions about all this, it wasn't that bad because it wasn't that hard to keep things in perspective. Here's why.

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The first time we saw this doctor, we went to his Mesa office. This time we had to go to his office in Phoenix, just for scheduling reasons. This office is on the campus of Phoenix Children's Hospital.

I literally cannot drive by there, or even think about that place, without thinking of all the little munchkins in there who are seriously, seriously, seriously ill.

So while it may not have been "fun" to walk my little five-year-old into the office of a pediatric cardiologist, knowing full well that 270 is not a number anyone wants to see, it really was easy to remember that it could be a whole lot worse.

At first, I wasn't crazy about the extra long drive. By the time I was done parking my car, I was grateful for it. The next appointment (in January) will be there too.

That's fine by me.

Can I share a little superstitious thought? I don't know why but I've always had a soft spot in my heart for Phoenix Children's hospital, even before someone I knew (one of my YW) had surgery there. It's just such an amazing place and I think anyone who takes such good care of kids in need deserves about a bazillion brownie points to get into heaven.

Here's my superstitious thought: I hope that soft spot in my heart isn't because my Christopher will be there some day.

There, I said it.

Thoughts like that have less power when you shine a light on them.

Right?

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Anyway, the night after Chris started the medication he had an episode that was so short it was over before he could tell us it had started. Same thing the next night. Nothing since then, which has been almost a week. I figure the medicine is doing it's job, so hooray for that. We'll just have to wait and see where we go from here.

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Fortunately Chris isn't freaked out by any of this. He's such an easy-going, happy kid. And the way he giggles when they put the "stickers" on him for his EKG really is too cute. As for me, I just try not to think about it too much. I don't know what's going to happen next, but I know he's going to be fine. That's all that matters to me.