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Friday, March 2, 2012
Z is feeling better. We seem to have kicked the pneumonia, and we’ve got a (newly) opinionated (let’s just say LO wants what he wants), happy little guy on our hands again. Wait, he was happy through most of the pneumonia. So how do I know he’s feeling better, you say? It’s because he’s wheezing less.
Wheezing less. Shouldn’t the wheeze be gone by now?? That’s what I thought.
But alas, for a few days, I’ve been hearing the whisper of a high-pitched wheeze at the end of some of his breaths. The thing is, most of the time I find myself asking, “is that a wheeze?” Z answered my question on Sunday night when I put him to bed. Yep, definitely a wheeze. But I was alone with him in the quiet dark of his nursery. Yes, I assured myself. I’ve got to call the doc. in the morning. That was definitely a wheeze. Wasn't it?
When I called on Monday morning, the doc. had us in that afternoon. He couldn’t hear anything. But, he recommended a follow up x-ray for Z just in case he had aspirated something. Like, inhaled an object. We discussed the pros and cons of exposing Z to radiation (again) via the x-ray. The doc. thought that he should have the x-ray because the fluid in his lungs during the pneumonia was so specific to his lower right lung. He said chances are, there’s nothing there, but if it were his own kid, he’d want to be one hundred percent sure.
Here’s the problem. I’m the only one who hears the wheeze. D said that he’s questioned the wheeze a few times himself, but he can’t be sure about what he’s hearing. So, D is (hesitantly) supportive of the decision to get the second set of x-rays, especially given the doc.’s recommendation, but I am bearing the weight of this decision heavily.
I feel crazy for worrying about this elusive wheeze (I swear it’s there!!), and I know I need to mama-bear-it-up and protect my own. But at the same time, what if I am just a worry-wart-crazy-person and I’m unnecessarily exposing my helpless infant child to high doses of radiation??
Is this what they call mom-guilt? It sucks.
So, we went and got the second x-ray. I alluded to wanting to take a picture of Z in the strange contraption, but, clearly, the tech. thought I was joking. What kind of mother would actually snap a picture while her baby is sobbing in the x-ray thingamabob? If you read the initial entry about the weird baby-x-ray torture machine, Zeke didn’t take to it so well this time. So, only because of the technician’s “haha”-sideways-glance-to-colleague response to my “I really should get a picture of this”, did I not take the picture. I did take a pic. of the contraption itself, though. The green plastic in the middle is literally a saddle. Poor little muffin. And his crazy mom.
P.S. Regarding the picture of Zeke: I never used to think pictures or videos of (or actual for that matter) babies with chunks of food on their faces was cute until I had my own. And now, I only think chunks of food on his face are cute. Not the chunks, so much, but his face with the chunks. So, I forgive you if the above picture repulses you.