Yesterday I took Peanut for a check up at the Children’s Hospital. Our last check up, as it turned out.
When he was three weeks old I started to feel that something wasn’t right. He was crying. A lot. And yes, newborns cry a lot. But my mummy-instinct told me that the screaming wasn’t your usual ‘please give me cuddles’ cry. I put it down to wind, until a week or so later I noticed that he was holding his leg up in a funny position. I took him to the doctor’s who told me to hot-tail it to the Children’s Hospital.
We spent two weeks as inpatients. After a barrage of tests, they discovered osteomyelitis (an infection of the bone) in his tiny knee. They treated it with two weeks of IV anti-biotics and two washouts of his knee joint. Watching my tiny baby boy go under general anaesthetic was the most heart breaking thing I’ve ever done.
Even so, the two weeks we spent in the hospital, and the follow up visits we have had since have made me feel like the luckiest mumma in the world. So lucky that what Peanut had was easily treated. So lucky that we got to go home after two weeks. So lucky that as of yesterday he has a clean bill of health and we don’t need to go back.
In some respects, this is why three babies is it for me. I feel that we have been so incredibly blessed with three healthy little boys. Sometimes I feel almost guilty about it. I feel that having any more may just be pushing our luck (and perhaps tipping me over into insanity, but that’s another story for another day!)
We’re done with the hospital. I’m done with babies. Happy and sad. Sad and happy.