A feverish weekend

When William woke up on Friday morning, I sent a text to Kristen -- who had been working overnight at the hospital -- remarking that he felt a little warm. Little did I realize what that observation meant at the time. He had been fussier than usual the night before when I (attempted to) put him down to sleep, but I thought nothing of it, really. And then he was fussy and especially sleepy all day Friday.

At about two in the afternoon, Kristen thought he felt really warm, so we took his temperature. 101.3 degrees. Not good for an 8-week-old baby. After a quick call to the doctor, we were off to the emergency room, a parenting adventure we had never experienced in three-and-a-half years. When they took his temperature in the ER, it was up to 101.7, so they decided they had to run a few tests, which in hospital-speak means, "We're going to torture your child for a little while."

The first torture was the insertion of a catheter. William's screaming didn't help matters, forcing the nurses had to poke around a few times, which of course becomes a vicious cycle. I squirmed in my seat. Torture number two involved an IV to draw what seemed like an enormous amount of blood from an infant. And then the final torture was a lumbar puncture, which you may know as a spinal tap. We found out that William's screams go to eleven.

They stuck this sleeve on his arm to protect him from his own IV line. We promptly started calling it his clobberin' club, and he promptly started bashing Kristen with it whenever she got too close.

There were no obvious answers as to what was causing the infection after these initial tests, so they told us that he was going to be admitted and likely have to stay for 48 hours until all of the labs were back. Great. At the time, they made a guess that it might be a urinary tract infection, but didn't seem terribly sure. They started him on some antibiotics to flush the infection out, but of course, this meant that he was hooked up to some tubes, which he didn't particularly like.

(By the way, thank goodness Grandma Moyer was in town. Like a hero, she stepped in to take care of Carolyn while we were at the hospital, before heading back to Colorado early Sunday morning, at which point Grandma and Papa Hyland took over.)

After we were in the hospital room, it was pretty much just a lot of waiting around, with various doctors and nurses stopping by to poke and prod him periodically. I make it sound worse than it really was; in fact, the doctors and nurses were universally fantastic throughout. Overnight on Friday night, William's temperature peaked at 103.8, and then gradually came back down throughout Saturday and Sunday.

Carolyn paid us a visit in the hospital and had a rollicking good time in the playroom and drawing on the whiteboard in the room.

Eventually all of the labs came back negative, and the doctors' best guess is that he had some kind of viral infection. No indication of where it came from or where it went to, unfortunately. We ended up back home around 5:30 Sunday evening, with William feeling pretty good it seemed. He spent the night in mom and dad's bed, and most of his naps today were in either Kristen's or my arms.

Here's hoping he fully recovers quickly!

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