Charlie's Fever -- A Survival Story

Except for a few days spent in NICU for a low platelet count ("Charlie's Bad Day..." 1/27/10), our little Beansprout has enjoyed perfect health. Other than teething, a diaper rash or two and the occasional bumps and bruises that come with being a Stunt Baby in Training, her days have been healthy and happy, filled with lots of love and little pain. We have been blessed.

But earlier this week, Charlie started running a fever -- a "beneficial" fever. (I guess the "beneficial" part was that her little body was fighting off something that might have been worse than a fever.)

By the time Charlie's mommy was her age (10-1/2 months), Meagan had had numerous fevers -- one so high that we took her to the emergency room in the middle of the night, where she was given an aspirin suppository. Other times, her father (that would be My Awesome Husband Greg) actually sat in a tub of cool(ish) water with her. (Doctor's advice.) And while my baby was burning up with fever, I did what I do best -- I worried! That voice in my head -- the one pointing out all the things that could be wrong with her (including things I'd never even heard of) -- would not shut up!

So naturally, when Meagan called me with news that Charlie had a fever, my mind immediately traveled back to those days when Meagan was my baby, and my baby had a fever...

I was impressed with how calm Meagan sounded over the phone as she told me that the thermometer had registered 102. But, even though my mind was racing to "Panic," I tried to sound calm, too; so maybe if you asked Meagan, she'd say she was impressed with how calm I was. Calm is not how I felt, however.

You may think I'm being silly and overly dramatic, writing about "surviving" a fever that never got higher than 101, and lasted only 24 hours. That's okay. Sometimes I am silly, and I'm often overly dramatic. I'm also very grateful that we weren't facing something more serious for Charlie!

I know it's not realistic to think you can have a child who never gets sick. And I know that as a mother and grandmother, I'll always be prone to worry, bordering on panic. I also know that my daughter has a pretty good head on her shoulders, and either did not inherit my tendencies, or is a far better actor than I could ever be.

For now, I'm just thanking God for hearing this grandmother's prayers. Our baby is fine again, amen!

Charlie's Bottle

Charlie's Bottle and Little Nutbrown Hare, 4-21-10


I think I'm a pretty good Grammakate. At least I'm a consistent and dependable Grammakate, if the fact that I show up at Charlie's house every morning between 7 and 7:30, ready to love her, counts for anything.

However, I have not been a consistent blogger -- at least not since those days when blogging was my newest obsession. I still love blogging, and I've spent many bloggable moments with Charlie in the last few weeks. I just haven't had time to blog. Or, on one particular subject, the inclination...

I remember hearing somewhere that if you don't have something nice to say, you shouldn't say anything at all. I've always liked the way that sounded, and if I'm not all caught up in the heat of some "moment," I try to follow it. So on the subject of giving Charlie the milk that her mother so lovingly pumps for her every day -- a true act of motherly love -- from a bottle, I haven't been able to say -- make that write -- much.

I have taken care of other people's babies while they worked, and I will say that giving those babies their bottles has always been one of my favorite parts of "borrowing" babies. Holding a child in my arms, its tiny hands clutching my fingers as it blissfully fills its tummy...That feeling of being able to provide exactly what that child needs at that moment is one of the best feelings in ther world to me!

But with our own little Charlie, it's been a completely different experience. We all knew that Charlie could take a bottle...We'd seen her do it. On more than one occassion. But the day Charlie's mommy returned to work was the day that Charlie simply decided that she would no longer be using one of those things to supply her nourishment. She told me so the very first time I tried to give her one...

(First, of course, she told me she was hungry. But even if she hadn't begun licking and sucking her hands eagerly, I would have known -- It had been at least three hours since Mommy had left, from all appearances, completely confident that everything was going to be fine.)

Of course, I was there for little Charlie, with a grandmother's love in my heart and a delicious bottle of Mommy's breastmilk in my hand. I cooed lovingly as I cuddled her close and placed the bottle in between her lips. Uh-uh. She moved her head from side to side, trying to push the thing out of her mouth as she made little "eh-eh-eh" noises. So I tried a different position. Still, the "Eh-eh-eh," a little louder this time.

Four or five positions later, including one where I stood on my head and held the damned bottle between my feet (I think), I was exasperated and Charlie was screaming at the top of her lungs. Just screaming. Eventually, as she tired, she actually began mouthing "Wah-wah-wah!" She was so adorable. I kissed her little tear-streaked cheeks as I cried my own tears. (Which, thinking back, probably didn't help much. Sigh.)

This same pattern occurred every day for two weeks. Mommy would call -- sometimes while Charlie was mid-tantrum. I couldn't hear what she was saying then, but I know she heard Charlie. (In fact, she probably heard Charlie all the way from downtown, and that was why she called.) I'd assure her that I could handle things, and that I'd call her back. And she'd sigh, "Ok." And I'd feel an incredible -- and futile -- urge to comfort my Meagan, too.

Thankfully, even the most stubborn baby eventually gets tired. After at least an hour of trying to tell me that she wasn't going to take that stupid bottle, so would I please go get her mommy, Charlie would eventually doze. And when she would begin to awaken, I would be there to stuff a bottle in her mouth. And she would actually manage to gulp down a couple of ounces...Enough to hold her until Mommy got home. (Amazingly, she didn't lose a single ounce of her "fluff" through all this!)

Now that doesn't really sound like Grammakate saying nice things about her Charlie-Bean, does it? But it's okay. I can say good things now...

Like finally, on Monday, when Mommy called for a report, I was able to tell her that I was just getting ready to give Charlie her bottle, and that everything was going to be fine. I told her to think positive thoughts; she told me later that she had told Charlie telepathically to take her bottle. Positive thinking or telepathy...Something worked. I cradled Charlie's head with my hand as she nestled in her "Boppy," and she looked [lovingly?] into my eyes as she sucked a three-ounce bottle dry. Then burped. It was amazing. And she did the same thing a couple of hours later. And then the next day. And the next...

I love giving Charlie her bottle. I love the way she clutches my hand as she draws in all that good nourishment. I love the way she sometimes smiles up at me and lets milk run all over her neck. I even love it when she spits up on me because she got too much too quickly.

Life is good, indeed.

Charlie's Platelets

This is our little Charlie-Bean on January 28, her first full day in the NICU (that's Neonatal Intensive Care Unit).



(See her little baby IV?) We were heartbroken to learn that her platelet count was low, even before we had time to speculate about what that could mean. (A quick scan of my 1973 Better Homes and Gardens Family Medical Guide turned up words like clot, bone marrow, leukemia, pernicious anemia...Some pretty scary stuff -- and a good reason not to do your own medical research!)

Charlie was put on antibiotics and subjected to bloodwork. A few things were ruled out (i.e., bacterial infection), but no one really seemed to know what was causing our baby to have "low platelet count." (At least they weren't saying.)

Charlie's mom, Meagan, also had to have some blood drawn, in order to rule out any condition she may have had which could have crossed over to Charlie. Negative results. Good, I guess, but then what could it be?

On January 31, Charlie was allowed to go home with her mommy and daddy. Other than that pesky low platelet count, she seemed perfectly healthy...no reason to hold her in the NICU.

She did have to visit her pediatrician and have her little heel jabbed with a needle a couple of weeks in a row, just so they could count her platelets. There was only slight improvement between the two visits, but since things seemed to be moving in the right direction -- and since Charlie appeared to be thriving beautifully, gaining a full pound in one week -- she was given a few weeks off before she had to be tested again.

Here's our little girl on February 21...



See what I mean by "thriving?"

And now for the best news of all:

On March 1, Charlie returned to her pediatrician for one more heel jab, which revealed that her platelet count is now up to 190,000 -- absolutely normal! (Oh, and her weight is now up to 9 lbs., 7 oz. That's almost three pounds more than when she was born!)

Best guess as to what caused the alarmingly low count (see picture below)? Meagan must have had some pre-eclampsia (high blood pressure) during Charlie's birth. Apparently that adequately explains things for the medical professionals involved. Guess I'll accept it, too.



More good news:

It looks like Mommy Meagan may not have to return to work after all...I think Grammakate should be able to make enough money drawing pictures for medical books to support the whole family!