The immunologist called back.
The paed called back and we saw him today.
The bottom line is her vaccinations did not take properly. The Ivy girl is an antibody - less, low immunity time bomb.
So; she will get the IVIG.
After all this time I feel really weird knowing that I was right. It’s like a ball in the pit of my stomach and part of me wants to laugh out loud, get right up close and scream “I told you so! You arrogant people who think you know better than a child’s mother!” and the rest of me wants to break down and cry and then cry some more.
For all of the struggle and for the times I’ve felt crazy and the constant sickness that Ivy has had to go through while they made up their minds.
The pain, the heartache, the worry.
I want to cry because it has changed my family.
It has changed me.
My confidence is truly shredded.
Before we can go ahead with the IVIG, Ivy will have the operation.
It has been decided that on Monday Ivy will go to the hospital for IV antibiotics. She has been unwell, her ear is disgusting and she has been dizzy to the point of falling over and claiming that her eyes hurt. The paed has decided we need to get this all sorted out before Thursday.
She will have the operation on Thursday
and she will have antibiotics and cortisone afterwards to support her through the trauma.
I know, grommets and adenoids is not a big deal surgically but for Ivy it is and it is for me too.
The truth is, I am scared.
Imogen had the same operation when she was four and went home on antibiotics. A month later her tonsil abscessed and burst, making her so septic that I thought I might lose her.
I have known this operation for Ivy was coming. I consented to it six weeks ago. I have thought about it, worried about it, tried to work through my fears.
It’s kept me up at night.
Really.
I have gone through everything.
Still, I have not come to any resolution.
It still feels wrong.
I am still worried that something will happen.
Pessimistic?
Maybe but it is an unshakable thing and usually when it is my issue, I can tease it out until I get to a place I feel…comfortable at least.
What am I supposed to make of that?
Do I push those feelings down and hope that I am just being an overprotective mother, with a negative outlook on life?
Or do I listen to my gut?
Because it’s not often wrong these days.
