Snap Shot of My Life: A Christmas to Forget

Drew usually spends a week or more with his father around Christmas time, 2003 was no different. He’d just finished his first year of school. His Dad picked him up after school on Friday, but on Sunday he came home for a few hours so that he could attend a friend’s birthday party. I took him to the party and he laughed and played and ran around with all the other children. He went back to his fathers in the afternoon with only three more sleeps ‘til Santa came.

The next day I was sorting through Christmas presents and trying to work out if I’d forgotten anyone this year. I received a phone call late in the morning, almost lunchtime, it was Drew’s father, Mark*.

“Hello,” I always answer the phone in a civil manner, not quite pleasant to him. I’m not a “bitter ex”; I just really don’t like him. Almost everything about him annoys me. I try to keep the contact at a minimum but of course we’ll always have to deal with each other where Drew is concerned. I limit my side of the conversations to Drew and anything to do with Drew only. I don’t see any need in discussing anything else, as much as he tries to at times.

“Hi, I’m just calling to ask if Drew is allergic to anything as far as medicine goes?”

“Why? But no, not as far as we know, he’s never really had to take all that much.” I answer this automatically, but think a father should know this.

“Oh ok, I just wanted to check because I’m allergic to penicillin and mum is about to take Drew to the doctor, he’s got stomach pains.” Came the reply in that monotone voice I’ve come to loath.

“Why aren’t you the one taking him? How long has he had the pains? Make sure you call me to let me know how he is when you get back.” This is the man I thought I loved at one time. He still lives with his parents and finds it hard to take responsibility for anything, including looking after his son.

“He wants Nan to go with him. He woke up at 4.30 this morning sick and upset. I gave him some Panadol and he went back to sleep. He’s still got the pains though. Will call you when they get back.”

“Ok, bye”

So I go back to my presents, wrapping and organizing them under the tree. I was not overly concerned as Mark didn’t seem to be, although I wished Drew was home so that I could be the one looking after him. I managed to get all of the Christmas presents wrapped and under the tree and had my lunch. A couple of hours passed with no return call from Mark, I began watching the clock and carrying the phone around with me waiting and willing it to ring. Finally it did.

“Hello”

“Hey, sorry I didn’t call earlier I forgot to when they got home and got sidetracked.” That voice takes only seconds before it gets on my nerves.

“Well how is he? What did the doctor say?” I really don’t care what sidetracked him or why he hasn’t called, only about Drew.

“He said it’s just some 24hour stomach bug, he gave him antibiotics.”

“Why has he given him antibiotics if it’s just a 24hr bug? What else did he say? What is the antibiotic called?” Mark and I have always had differing views on Doctors and medication. I go to the Doctor when necessary and I take medication when necessary, but I make absolutely certain it is. I don’t take a doctor’s word as gospel and I ask a lot of questions. Mark on the other hand had been known to go to his doctor purely to get a medical certificate, because he’d taken a “sickie” from work. He’d come home with the certificate and a two-week course of antibiotics, that he would proceed to take.

“I don’t know”

~Sigh~ “So where is Drew now and how is he feeling?” I wanted to scream at him, I think I did a little bit, you don’t just take antibiotics for a bug, there has to be more reason or don't take them, at least know why they're being taken.

“He’s laying on the lounge, I think he’s almost asleep. He’s not too bad”

“Ok then, ring me in the morning, or if he gets worse, and let me know how he is?”

“Yeah I will, see-ya”

Apparently Drew did seem to get worse that night, so much so that Mark (and his parents) decided it would be best to take him to the Emergency ward in the local Hospital. They sat there for three hours, in which time a nurse gave Drew some Panadol. On finding out that there would still be several hours to wait before being able to see a doctor, Mark decided to take Drew home. I only found this out in the weeks that followed and I was never told it directly.

Tuesday morning comes and goes and I haven’t heard from Mark. I presume that Drew is feeling better and all is fine. I try to call Mark several times, both at home and on the mobile, but I’m unable to catch him so I leave a message.

The phone rang at about 1 o’clock that afternoon.

“Hello”

“Hi Ted… It’s me.” He’s in the car on the mobile; I can hear the traffic and noise in the background.

“How’s Drew?”

“Well, umm don’t panic, but...” Anyone who has heard those words knows, as soon as you hear them the automatic response is to panic! “I’m on my way to the Children’s Hospital with him now,”

“What? Why? What’s wrong?” I’m sure he hears the panic in my voice; I can hear it clear as day. Tears slide down my face and my heart is beating too fast.

“I’ve just come from my doctor and he said to take him straight to hospital, he thinks it is appendicitis.”

I can’t really remember the rest of that conversation, I don’t think there was much more said. As soon as I hung up the phone I got organized to leave the house and arranged for my brother to give me a lift to the hospital.

I never want to walk into a room and see my son looking the way he did that day. He was so pale and barely had the energy to move at all. He already had the drip in his arm and they had confirmed appendicitis and started him on antibiotics. It was now a matter of waiting to get into surgery. Being two days before Christmas many doctors were on leave and the wait would be lengthy. Drew lay there with an expressionless look across his face until a shot of pain hit him, when his face would contort and quiet tears would roll down his cheeks. He simply had no energy to complain about the pain or anything else. His eyes alone showed the fear and pain he was in, I could only imagine.

He went into surgery after midnight that night. I waited in the small waiting room just outside recovery, with Mark and his parents. While Drew was in surgery Mark and his parents sat and chat about politicians, childcare and the lack of care in hospitals. The mundane and pointless chatter you find at a dinner party, not exactly what I was in the mood for at that point. An hour passed slowly and no one came to tell us the surgery was over, it was meant to be relatively quick and routine.

When the doctor did finally come out to us, a little after 2am, he informed us we were extremely lucky and our Little boy was fine. Drew’s appendix had burst, he was lucky to be alive, and he would have been in immense pain. They’d had to “clean it out” quite a lot and he needed to be drip fed antibiotics for about a week.


*I’ve changed the name for obvious reasons.

© 2005