God bless Versed

You all probably remember my posts from a few weeks ago regarding Zoey's horrible kidney infection--the one that landed us in the ER, and also signaled her pediatrician to order some more tests to make sure her kidneys are functioning properly. Well, she had her tests done today and I am happy to report that we all survived quite nicely.

Bryan and I opted to take Zoey down to Portland, to Legacy Emanuel Hospital, since they are the children's hospital in our network. That turned out to be an excellent choice, as every single nurse and technologist that we worked with today was nothing less than fabulous.

(As Zoey and I slowly made our way down I-5 this morning I was reminded of how grateful I am to not have that commute to deal with anymore. Ugh.)

First on the agenda was an ultrasound of her kidneys--not painful, but potentially difficult to perform given the squirminess factor of Zoey's age group. Basha, the ultrasound tech, came out to greet us and I liked her instantly--a soft-spoken older German woman, she spoke directly to Zoey in a quiet, calm voice. Of course, she happened to be asking if Zoey would take her binky out, because she wanted to see her pretty face without it, but I still liked her anyway. Zoey refused to make eye contact with her, as if to say she wasn't going to dignify that question with a response. When we got back to the ultrasound room, Basha took her time showing Zoey all the equipment, letting her stick her fingers in the ultrasound gel and hold the "wand" in her hand to "help" with the test. An ultrasound of your kidneys requires that you lay on your belly, so Basha had me lay on the table with Zoey laying on top of me, which was much more calming for everyone. The test took about 10-15 minutes and, because Basha seemed to be completely unhurried, Zoey did fabulous and was quite cooperative.

Then we returned to the waiting room for 45 more minutes before being called back by Dwayne, a radiology tech, for the more nerve-wracking of the procedures. A voiding cysto-ureothrogram (or VCUG in medical lingo) involves inserting a catheter, putting dye in the bladder, and taking x-ray images as you pee to make sure there isn't any urine washing back up from the bladder in to the kidneys. Sounds vaguely uncomfortable for a grown adult, and horrifying to a parent about to subject their child to such a test. And then Zoey's pediatrician said the magic words...sedation. While I was happy to know that she would be comfortable and relaxed during the procedure, this brought with it a whole new set of worries: how would they sedate her, exactly? Would they have to start an IV? Would Bryan and I be able to stay with her?

As it turns out, I had nothing to worry about. Dwayne brought us back to a room where we also met Kristin, a radiology-tech-student, and both of them were great at talking to Zoey, offering her books to look at, stickers to pick out, etc. Kim, the RN, came in shortly after and THAT is when I started to feel so much more at ease. Maybe because I am a nurse too, I don't know, but it seems like we speak the same language and she was so great at understanding that even though I'm a nurse and can understand most of what's going on, it doesn't negate the fact that I'm still a nervous parent who needs lots of reassurance and education about what will be happening to my child.

Kim explained that she would give Zoey some oral Versed--a medicine by mouth that would just make her loopy and relaxed and basically not really care what was going on around her. Also, Bryan and I would stay in the room throughout the procedure to comfort her. So, there went my fears--no IV and no having to leave my child. Excellent.

Once we got Zoey changed in to a gown and the dose of Versed down her throat, it took about 20 minutes for her to start to look a little...strange. Very smiley, and her eyes were having a tough time focusing on pretty much anything. We layed her on the x-ray table at that point and Kim put the catheter in--Zoey wasn't a huge fan of that, but it was about a million times less traumatic than the LAST catheter experience we had. Bryan and I both put on lead aprons to wear during the procedure, and stood on either side of Zoey to sing to her, read to her, and generally distract her.

The first thing that caught her attention was my lead apron--a shiny black sparkly number. She took one look at it and in her best two-year-old drunken slur told me "oh Mommy, that's niiiiice", except it came out like this "oh Mommy thash niiiiiiiiiiiiissshhhhe". She's a light weight, apparently.

The rest of the test took about 20 minutes and Zoey tolerated it fairly well. She got a little nervous when they had to roll her from side to side, and by the end she was well on her way to a freak-out, but we managed to get her off the table before a full-on meltdown. Her reward? A grape popsicle, and all the stickers that Kristin could find to stuff in her wee little hands.

Our mistake? Taking the grape popsicle away in it's last melty stage. THAT is what ultimately lead to her un-doing...we're talking major, kicking-screaming-arching-back tantrum that lasted ALL THE WAY HOME. Awful. Not to mention that I was lost in the ghetto part of Portland trying to find my way back to I-5 as my delirious toddler frantically clawed at the lining of her car seat. I couldn't stop to comfort her for fear of becoming Portland's next drive-by shooting victim, so we just kept going as Zoey worked herself up more, and more, and more.

Once we finally made it home, we got comfy on the couch with her binky, her beloved kitty blanket, and some serious Mr. Rogers viewing-time. I felt bad as she sat there doing that half-hiccup cry that kids do when they're winding down from a freak-out. But after that, she was fine--a little more cranky than normal, but she's in bed now, so hopefully we're in for a restful night.

Like I said before, I am so incredibly grateful to the nurses and techs who worked with us today and did such a fabulous job putting us at ease. They made the difference.