We want to give the world to our children. It's a rubbish gift in many ways but essentially what it means is we want to do everything we can for them, but sometimes what we can do is not enough. NotHeidi was born with an abnormality in one of his ureters and that was picked up in-utero. We were assured that these things are not uncommon and usually resolve themselves soon enough.
Yet scan after scan continued to be of concern and we were given a referral for two tests to be conducted at Westmead Childrens Hospital.
Westmead is a sprawling complex providing care for sick children throughout Australia. Going to the doctor is natural enough, if not for yourself then certainly for your child. Being told to go to Westmead brings you two feelings. One of dread that it should be required that you go where the sickest of children need to go and one of confidence because you believe that this is where you get the best care for your child.
Now, as a parent you are conflicted about the correct course of action. The tests were explained and neither seemed what you might call pleasant. The medical professional has explained the potential for this condition to cause further problems and the tests will explore how real and imminent that potential is. Yet you want to prevent any discomfort to your child. We went ahead with the tests and arrived at Westmead early one morning.
If you ever want to get some perspective in your life you can spend a lot of money on a retreat where you detox, learn mindfulness and practice some yoga. You could help out in a charity. Or you could just sit and watch the comings and goings in a place like Westmead. There are children with afflictions that would cast the best of us into pathetic self pity and incapacitate us. Yet here these young children are bandaged, propped and augmented managing a smile as their tireless yet exhausted parents stoically and proudly help them in the fight of their lives. For their lives. There's no lamentation or pity, just an acceptance of reality and the knowledge there is no choice but to go on. The bustle of the place is chaotic but at every moment there is care and warmth and the effort to ensure that we treat the sick so that they won't have to come back to this place.
We are eventually ushered into a room with an x-ray machine to test whether NotHeidi's bladder is allowing fluid back to the kidney. This involves a catheter feeding fluid into the bladder until it's full and x-raying what happens. I can't even type the word without squirming and it's a mighty small tube you're dealing with. To mitigate there was some numbing creme for the entry point and magic capsules of sugar water that make a bothered baby instantly forget what's going on and concentrate on the sweet, sweet nummy coming into its mouth. The cheerful dog, cat, zebra and other motifs on the x-ray gowns were a nice touch but you were keenly aware of the fact that you had lead plates protecting your body from the x-rays while your son was being exposed to them. Several capsules later we were done and while we wouldn't receive any definitive results until our next doctors appointment the suggestion was there wasn't anything to worry about on this count at least.
My son had fared infinitely better than I would have in the same position and cried a lot less. He certainly didn't enjoy it though.
The next test was to determine that the kidneys themselves were functioning as normal and involved getting a cannula inserted, feeding radioactive material into the bloodstream and then tracing the movement of that material as it was processed through the kidneys and out the bladder. We were assured that the process was safe and would not result in NotHeidi gaining superpowers to help his fight against villany. The biggest issue here was with inserting a cannula. Finding a vein is tricky at the best of times, getting one in a baby is not easy. After the first unsuccessful attempt another limb was tried with a similar lack of success. Already having gone through several capsules of the magic sugar water it was then that NotHeidi turned to look me directly in the eye with an expression that haunts me.
As if to say "Dad, please help me", he conveyed a look so earnestly pleading that it might have fractured my heart. That look is the entire reason I am writing this entry. The best I could do in response was to say to him "I know this isn't nice, but we need to do this to make sure you'll be OK". I don't think he was impressed but at the 3rd attempt the cannula was in. The material was put through and he was strapped into the sensor for 20 minutes to watch his kidneys perfectly clean his blood and create radioactive pee. He even managed a little sleep while that was happening.
As we left the hospital I wanted to buy him the world's largest ice-cream as reward for his courage. Instead I just shed a little tear as I got the horrible feeling that perhaps this was the first time I had failed him.
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