Guess what this is?

Name this rash!

a) Cranky Toddler Syndrome
b) Chickenpox
c) Urticaria aka Hives
b) Anxious Mama Bear Illness


The correct answer: all of the above except b.

Hives!!!!!

The Bear got HIVES!  Everywhere!

Shortly after I wrote this post, as in the day after, Ellie came home from school with these lovely raised, reddish bumps aka wheals on her arms, thighs, and the sides of her torso.  Hives.  Uck!  True to their annoying nature, hives seem to leave one area of the body only to reappear with a vengeance in another area, like the scalp, soles of the feet, and the nether regions.  Fortunately for The Bear, only her face was itchy and she didn't end up with any of the worrisome eye, lip, or tongue swelling.

Needless to say this mama bear stopped the administration of Augmentin ASAP and started a 48-hour round-the-clock Benadryl treatment.  This lead to--a) Cranky Toddler Syndrome and b) Anxious Mama Bear Illness as well as Drunken-Hyper Bear Syndrome and Tired-Hair-Pulling-Out Mama Sickness.

In speaking with our pediatrician's nurse, I have learned that antibiotic-related allergic hives can last over a week.  Oh goody.

It should be noted that I am blaming all of this, unfairly, on our ENT.  The tonsillectomy/adenoidectomy led to the development of pneumonia.  The pneumonia led to the prescription of Augmentin.  Which, in turn, led to the development of yeast (oh yeah, did I forget to mention the yeast?) and an allergic reaction.  Oh and get this. . . .are you ready?. . . . according to the ENT, Ellie still has some scabs in the back of her throat.

ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!?!?!?!

Poor Ellie Bear has hives and soon she will go through the horrible pain (again) of more scabs falling off. The fun never stops in this household.

On a happy note, Little Miss Sassy-Pants is back to her antics!

*Hives are nothing to joke about.  Hives aka Urticaria is a systemic allergic reaction to antibiotics such as penicillins, to foods, to contact allergens such as detergents/soaps/lotions, or to environmental allergens such as cedar.  In some cases, hives can be related to a viral or parasitic infection or the cause may never be identified (idiopathic urticaria). Angioedema is similar to hives, but the swelling occurs deeper in the tissues--this can be seen around the eyes, mouth, throat, hands, and feet.  This can be life threatening and is as such, an emergency. Typical treatments for hives involves antihistamines and in more severe cases, steroids.  Hives tend to resolve on their own anywhere from a few hours to weeks. People with hives should be evaluated by a health care provider for proper diagnosis and treatment.

**Fun Facts about Augmentin: an allergic reaction tends to emerge around the end of the course of treatment or a few days after (Ellie's was on day 9).  Augmentin IS in the class of penicillins.  It is amoxicillin + clavulanate acid.  Therefore, if you are allergic to Augmentin, you are probably allergic to amoxicillin, penicillin, and all the other penicillin drugs.


Hives and Angioedema. Mayo Clinic.

Hives. American College of Dermatology

Augmentin. Drugs.com

A somewhat rough recovery: s/p tonsil-and-adenoidectomy

I shall not keep you in suspense.  No, we have not needed to take the Bear to the ER status post tonsillectomy, adenoidectomy, and ear tube insertion. . . but we have come very close as a certain little Ellie Bear does not want to consume her fluids.  Or take her medicine.  Or stay awake long enough to drink her medicine or any liquids.  The oral syringe is my best friend and Ellie's biggest enemy right now.

In the past few days, I have given my daughter sugary concoctions and food items that I swore I would never keep in the house let alone beg her to take.  She now has reason to believe that we have cupcakes in the pantry and that ice cream is an acceptable food for breakfast.  That several types of juice and Gatorade have a home in our fridge.  Swirly straws and various drinking apparatuses have been introduced to my stubborn toddler.  The thing is, they are not enticing enough.  Even the Capri Suns were purchased in hopes of enticing her to drink.  Capri Suns--a treat only at birthday parties.

She is holding her own face mask.  The Child Life Specialist got it out to show her and Ellie just yanked it from her hands and put it on her face with the attitude of "uh huh!  I know how this thing goes, girl!"

My little bundle-of-energy isn't behaving like my Ellie.  The spider monkey has disappeared.  She has not tried to climb onto the kitchen island once.  I know!  She is a different child.  Plus, she watched a movie.  An entire movie.  While sitting.  The whole time.  Snuggling with me.  Did I mention it was a whole movie?  As in more than 5 minutes? I would say it is glorious to snuggle with my little Bear, but I am sad because I know that she is behaving this way due to pain. . . and I cannot make it better.

How do you explain to a child that you put them through this pain to make them better?

On Tuesday, the day of her surgery, Ellie tricked us.  The little turkey led us to believe that she was fine and dandy.  Good to go.  Chugging apple juice to the extent that I was a bit worried about the contents of her next diaper.  Scarfing down ice cream like there was no tomorrow.  Attempting [and succeeding] to climb over the railings of the hospital crib and trying to escape her hospital room--with her diapered tush hanging out of her gown.  Ta-ta Dell Children's!  The Bear is on the loose!

Ellie tiredly sat in that post-anesthesia care unit trying to sign along to Signing Time and the Wiggles.  Shouting to everyone that her name was "Eeeee!" when asked.  She charmed the pants off everyone!  She was my Ellie.  A little drunk, but still my spunky Ellie Bear.

Then.  Suddenly.  The Scream.  Not an "I'm pissed off. Give me M&Ms" scream, but an agonizing scream.  Pain.  Severe pain.  From my baby.  Full body tensing.  Panicked look in her eyes.  The Scream of Agony.

Though not because pieces of her upper airway were scraped out, but because of pain from her bladder/ureter.  Yes, she was grabbing the diaper area.  She would scream for 10 minutes, then urine would gush out into her diaper and she would calm.  Repeat.  Repeat. Repeat.  The vicious cycle finally slowed to twice an hour. It was so horrendous that the nurses finally requested the docs to come and look at her and were begging for a PCA pump [patient-controlled-anesthsia aka IV pain med pump].

Was it a UTI?  Was it a bladder spasm caused by the anesthesia?  An over-distended bladder? The doctors and nurses seemed clueless.  I googled.  I Facebooked.  I tapped into my previous nursing experience.  Mostly, I tried not to cry in front of my baby.

Ding ding ding ding ding.  As it turns out, Bear's IV fluids should have been discontinued once she demonstrated that she could maintain her oral intake of liquids.  As in, the IV fluids should have been shut off the moment we reached her hospital room.  Once the IV pump was off, the excruciating pain decreased and the screaming ceased, but my Ellie wasn't the same little girl from earlier that day.  She was cranky.  Irritable.  Hyper.  An overtired type of hyper.

I was also puked on.  Dried, coffee-ground-blood puke all over my clothes. The clothes that I changed into for sleeping.  Yuck.  Zofran was given which helped the vomiting, but caused the hyperactivity.  Oh yes, FYI Zofran hypes up a child like crack.  

Finally, around Midnight, Ellie calmed enough to fall asleep.  Only to be woken up by loud beeping.  I spent 2 years working in a PICU and I know my alarms.  I also know that a lot of times they go off because the battery is low, the wire is kinked, or the child removed the lead.  This alarm was none of that. Apparently, Ellie couldn't keep her oxygen [O2] sats up while sleeping and was dipping pretty low once in a deep sleep.

Introducing, the nasal cannula.  Ever try to keep one of those bad boys on a little toddler?  Yeah, even with the little sticky dots and tagaderm and even more tape, Little Miss had the cannula ripped off in record time.  Fortunately, her skin remained in tact.  I spent the remainder of the night vigilantly [in panic mode] watching her monitor and holding a face mask in front of Bear.  If she turned, I chased her with the mask.  With the mask, she would sat in the low 90s.  Without the mask somewhere in the 80s. Typically, the upper 80s but everyone once in a while she would slip to 80%.  

My persuasive powers allowed the ENT surgeon to feel comfortable discharging Ellie into our care.  Who knew that batting one's eyelashes could go so far!  In all seriousness, Ellie's surgeon and I go way back and she knows that I tend to be hyper vigilant [aka worry-wart /  obsessive].  Yes, Ellie's O2 sats sucked while sleeping but chances are, they were low prior to the surgery--you know, obstructive sleep apnea and whatnot.  When awake, The Bear was rocking at 96%.  She has no signs of respiratory distress and everyone knows the best healing happens at home.

Since discharge on Wednesday, it has been a battle to keep fluids in her.  We have tried various sippy cups, straw cups, dixie cups, swirly straws, regular straws, and the dreaded oral syringe.  We have tried foods that count as fluids--yogurt, ice cream, applesauce. I even did the reverse psychology of "this is mommy's drink, not Ellie's".  Five days of obsessing over every sip and every diaper. Five nights of laying with my daughter cuddled up against me, nearly kicking me off the bed as she moaned in between doses of pain meds.  Five days and I believe she finally turned a corner.

Ellie woke up and drank 3 ounces of a Capri Sun without any coaxing.  She also only took a 3 hour nap as opposed to a 5-6 hour one.  She put together a few puzzles and she ate part of a donut.  She signed along to "Signing Time".

I know that you all are thinking that I should have been prepared.  The hospital discharge papers warn of a 10-14 day recovery.  Yet, this was the Bear's 5th surgery and she has always bounced back quickly, even after her GI procedure.  Even when ill with a high fever, Ellie tries to climb into the sink or escape through the dog door or demands a "sandwich" from Quiznos.  My little Bear has proved to me over and over again that she is a little trooper and with this surgery, she has proved the same.  She is strong.  She is resilient.  She is a trooper.   While at times I felt helpless, I also knew that I could give her the only thing that others could not--I could be her mommy.

Continued Fear and Unparalleled Love

*I apologize in advance for some missing photos - I used Photobucket for free as a means to store my photos and they are now holding a few hundred pics of mine for hostage unless I pay for an expensive plan and I also managed to lose half my photos from my computer*


Ever since Ellie's ENT appointment last week, I keep going back to an old post of mine--Overwhelming Fear Over a Little Girl in a Pink Dress.  In the past 3 months, both of Ellie's ear tubes have fallen out and the right ear is already full of mucoid fluid.  Her hearing is affected.  She has suffered from chronic adenoiditis since January and they are obstructing her airway.  As are her tonsils. This means that next month, my little Ellie Bear will under go the trifecta of ENT surgeries--Tonsil removal, adenoid removal, and the insertion of ear tubes (her 4th set of tubes).

Oh you mean, these tonsils????
This photo was taken 1.5 years ago.  Those little bad boys have nearly doubled in size.  

I know that a T & A and ear tubes are minor surgeries, but they are still surgeries and this is my daughter!  Those old feelings of fear creep into my mind.  Paralyzing me.  I just want to hold my little girl close and protect her.

Overwhelming Fear Over a Little Girl in a Pink Dress
*a re-worked post from June 2012 with some new photos*

The Little Girl in the Pink Dress. . . Ellie Bear. . . My Love, My Life

My daughter is so beautiful that it hurts.  She is so amazing, so precious, and just down right sassy that my heart is over flowing with love for her.  How is it possible that she is my daughter?  She is a gift.  A priceless gift.  And I fear that I will lose her.  That she will be taken from me all to soon.

Is this something that all mothers feel?  Is this why mama bears are so ferociously protective of their cubs that they will kill a human or another animal that trespasses too close to their family den?

When Ellie was a little over 6 months old, when she went into anaphylaxis due to eating a small amount of infant oat cereal.  A surprisingly rare allergy.  I drove so fast to the nearest hospital and by the time I arrived, her little lip was swollen and she was gasping.  A high pitched squeak was released with each breathe.  I fear for her life.  I later on felt a chest crushing fear every time a little child walked by with a Cheerio.  A cheerio could kill her.  Those infant puffs could kill her.  Thankfully, she has outgrown this allergy.

When I watch my precocious little adventurer climb that 2-story playscape, I have moments of mommy panic.  What if she falls and breaks her neck?  Yet, I know I need to let Ellie develop her independence, test her boundaries, and practice her gross motor skills.

Every time I am in the car and I look back to see an empty car seat, I have a brief moment of fear. Oh right, the car seat is empty because I have a babysitter or she is home with Andrew.

Then there are those scarier times when Ellie has her routine blood draw.  Her complete blood count [CBC] is routinely measured to look for signs of leukemia.  A cancer that could ravish her body and could take her from this world, from me and Andrew.  A cancer, that while rare, is more common in children with Down syndrome.  Oh how my stomach drops and my heart freezes as I hear the nurse on the other line calling with the results.  Oh how my huge sigh of relief could be heard across Texas when I hear that "everything is normal".

Then in June, when I rushed Ellie to the ER at the recommendation of her pediatrician to rule out meningitis.  Again, adrenaline seized me and fortunately it all turned out okay.

Or just this past Valentine's Day, when my little spider monkey decided to sky-dive off the side of a chair, bonked her head, cried, stopped breathing, and then seized.  It was Ellie's (and my) first ambulance ride.  I stared in horror as I witness my baby continue to have absence seizures the entire way to the hospital.  Yet, again, her guardian angel worked over time for her.

Facebook and the internet are dangerous places.  Facebook and internet forums can be excellent avenues for support and yet, they are also where I learned about another little girl Ellie's age diagnosed with leukemia.  They are where I learned that a little cousin was in a horrendous car accident required multiple surgeries to realign her shattered bones.  It is where I saw my friend's little boy miraculously survive Steven-Johnson's Syndrome after having a rare reaction to an antibiotic.

I have seen too much.  It is my own fault for opting to work early on in my career as a pediatric intensive care unit nurse.  Many of the accidents and illnesses that I have encountered during my years as a nurse were rare incidents. They were unlikely and yet, they serve to remind me just how fragile life is.

This is my absolute most favorite photo of me and The Bear.  

I never knew it was possible to love someone so much, with every ounce of my being until I became pregnant. In those first few moments when I saw Ellie before the nurses whisked her away, I knew that life would never be the same.  Yes, I have a fear of losing my little girl and yet, it has made me forever grateful for each moment that I spend with her.  Tell me, am I the only one who has this fear?  Hold you little ones close and whisper those sweet words of I love you.

***

Yes, The Chunky Chicken does own quite a few pink dresses.