Not to Worry

Our littlest guy, Jesse, has struggled with ear infections and upper-respiratory "goop" for over a month now. He finished his first course of antibiotics with no improvement whatsoever. Our pediatrician put him on a stronger antibiotic and we found out this morning, there has only been a slight, but no substantial, improvement. We're now embarking upon the third course of antibiotics and are hopeful that this one will do the trick.

Jesse has also had a persistent cough and excessive mucus discharge for the last few weeks, all while on the antibiotics. Each morning, afternoon, and evening, we've aspirated 4-6 syringes of thick, green snot from his little nose. We've tried a humidifier in his room at night, but still the snot and cough remains.

Our doctor wants to give the third antibiotic a chance to clear up his infection. However, if it doesn't do the trick, she wants us to see an ENT (Ear, Nose, and Throat) Specialist for evaluation. She indicated that she'd like Jess to be tested for Cystic Fibrosis as well. "Not to worry," she said, "I'd just like to rule it out as a last possibility if all else fails."

We've known our pediatrician for a number of years and she has taken excellent care of all three of our children. We trust her implicitly and greatly value her education, insight, and the aggressive and thorough approach with which she cares for our childrens' health. She has always been very honest with us and, perhaps hubby and I both come from science backgrounds, she tends to speak medical-ese pretty frequently with us. However, if we ever have questions, she "dumbs it down" for us to ensure we understand. My point, I suppose, is that we truly love Dr. Vicki, as do our kids, and we couldn't have found a better pediatrician.

Yet, when I hear the name of a dreaded disease like Cystic Fibrosis, I can't help but worry, even when this wonderful woman and talented doctor tells me not to. Despite the trust we've placed in her through the years and the level of confidence we have in her medical abilities and her calm, reassuring demeanor, I can't help but worry. Even though I don't want to be one of those drama-filled, overreactive, panicky parents, I can't help but worry. With all of the logic, research, and knowledge in my head, I can't help but worry.

So... there it is. I will wear a positive attitude and put on an optimistic, smiling face because that is what I am supposed to do. I am his Mother and I must be strong. But, secretly, I feel a horrible sense of dread and terror at the thought of... well, I don't even want to say the words. There may be nothing wrong whatsoever, I tell myself. Yet, I can't help but worry.

We've also got a Physical Therapist, an Occupational Therapist, a teacher, and a PT student coming to our home on Friday to evaluate Jess because he's over nine months old now and still isn't sitting up on his own yet. Poor/low muscle tone, they call it. Yes, I know that kids reach milestones in their own time and when they are ready. If they can't help him and he doesn't show some improvement in the next three months or so, our pediatrician has recommended a referral to a neurologist. "Not to worry," I've been told. You got it... I can't help but worry.

I'm hoping that he is simply struggling a bit at the moment and that we will soon be able to count our lucky stars that we've averted a medical crisis like Cystic Fibrosis or some other issue. Until that time however, even if you're not the God-believing type, please say a prayer or send some well-wishes this way with the hope that our little guy only gets healthier and stronger with each passing day. He... all of us... can use all the help we can get.