Sitting in a dim grey room, listening to our GP argue firmly with a stressed, over stretched doctor on the other end of the line seemed to go on. I imagined him huffing puffing, desperate to hang up and alarms buzzing up and down the wall demanding his attention. We were all busy, it wasn’t a time of year I wanted to be traipsing one of my children down to hospital and it seemed I wouldn’t be. The arrogant junior doctor insinuated that due to Dexter being five years old, he’d probably shoved something up his nose and the bloody blob was a reaction to that, and that they’d ring me back with an appointment.
Dr Cole was not satisfied with this response, calmly saying that this direct call of service was to allow such cases as Dexter to be seen in hospital on the day in question and it was pathetic that this doctor couldn’t find time for him to be seen. Sadly, the junior doctor, regarded Dr Coles words with little heed and told him they would call me. A few angry words were exchanged before Dr Cole apologised to me, advised me that it was ok to keep Dexter at home until this was sorted. My main concern was that the nose bleeds were getting worse and I didn’t know when they were going to occur. With further apologies for the service and told me that the ENT ward would be in touch but if I was really concerned, I could always take Dex into A & E if another nose bleed happened.
With a letter in hand for the ward we barely made it back to the car before a doctor was on the phone offering me an appointment for Thursday. ‘Have you nothing sooner?’ It’s Monday, I complained.’ Disinterested, he explained young children often put things up their noses and that that was the earliest appointment they could offer.
Disgruntled I went home and complained to Jack over the phone, looking back, this was the moment I should of kicked off but as ever, I was too polite, but my instincts were flitting, I knew I wanted him to be seen sooner. Brushing off the worry, Dex and I went home and settled in for a day of Disney’s Spiderman cartoons and I thought the Thursday appointment couldn’t come soon enough. He didn’t have another nosebleed that day, so I felt a little happier putting him to bed. Jack had arranged for his family to come around the next evening to watch the Mandalorian. Things had been strained high between myself and my sister in law, I went upstairs as I wasn’t up for a night of uncomfortable viewing. Tuesdays had usually been swimming lessons for the children but we had all grown tired of these, but jack chose the same evening to invite everyone over.
It wasn’t long before Jack had lead Dexter upstairs, his face smeared with blood,
Springing into action I washed Dex down ready to take him down to A&E, enough was enough. Getting him dressed in a warm onesie, I promised that we’d go down and get this sorted, half seven at night and he was tired, but I felt that we couldn’t wait till Thursday and I know jack felt the same.
A&E was filled with the usual suspects, Dex lay on my lap bleeding all over me. I assumed Dex would be seen first but I suspect the letter I gave to the receptionist from our GP, stated a possible nasal polyp, so hours passed, four in total, watching people with minor cuts and sprained ankles, all of who were seen before us. Internally my angry flared, I had a five-year-old boy, who was grumpy bleeding and tired, waiting in a crap waiting room, being left, every now and then I’d approach the receptionist who claimed we’d be seen shortly.
At 23:20 we were finally seen, Dexter was understandably irritable and uncooperative, I tried to hug him but being pregnant there wasn’t much room for him to sleep on me. The doctor was young, polite in manor, but a little cold in his demeanour. He was dressed smartly, but he looked tired, who knew how long into his shift was, but he assured me it was a polyp and said the bleeding needed to be stemmed by, cauterising the fleshy lump that was now protruding from his little nose.
The treatment was silver nitrate, on the end of matchsticks dragged across the mass. Dexter cried out, he was too tired to be prodded and poked and no matter how much silver was used the mass kept breaking through the barrier, oozing blood tinged now with the dullness of the black silver liquid, It irritated and burnt as the blood caused it to run down his face and he whined uncomfortably as the doctor tried to wipe it away with haste, but the nitrate stuck to his young fresh skin, marking and tarnishing it. I was getting more and more frustrated; it was distressing to see him like this and I was desperate for help, I knew then as I watched Dexter shrug, scream and drop in and out of sleep that something was really wrong.
The doctor kept reassuring me that he’d seen polyps like this before but he’d arrange a bed for him in the children’s unit. I felt better knowing he’d be kept in for the night and hopefully he’d have it surgically removed the next day. I’d been in constant contact with Jack, now nearing two am and knowing we were in for the night I told him, he shouldn’t worry and go to sleep.
However, another half hour passes and the doctor returns, explaining there’s only one bed left in the ward and that if a seriously ill child was to be admitted later that day, they would have to be blue lighted to Southampton or further if Dexter was to take the bed. It would be best if we came back in the morning.
I was gobsmacked, my little boy wasn’t looking well, and he wasn’t a complainer, but I agreed. Dexter was eager to sleep in his own bed and living five minutes from the hospital, what was the harm? It would be a lie if I didn’t say I was irritated that they yet again were telling me one thing and acting on another, but I dragged my weary, heavily pregnant body out of A&E carrying a sleeping Dexter out into the waiting room and waited for our taxi.
Taxi drivers are always annoyed, we live so close its barely worth their time for the fare, but he wasn’t too disgruntled as I struggled out the car with Dex heaved over my shoulder.
Carrying him into the house, I could see that the polyp was bleeding again, I quickly wiped it from his face before helping him into his bed. His body relaxed, heavy into his mattress and sleep overtook him in an instant. I stroked his white blonde hair; it had been freshly bleached from our time down the beach that summer. I looked at him in the dusky 3am light thinking how sorry I felt for him, this all seemed so unnecessary. We’d gone from nothing to a huge mass of bleeding tissue blocking his nose in less than three days.
Sneaking and creaking into or bedroom, Jack and Trixie lay snuggled across the bed, upon sitting my heavy backside on the bed, Jack stirred, he scooped Trixie up into his chest and returned our little girl to her bed. Lately she’d been having night terrors and had become accustomed to tiptoeing into our bed most early mornings.
Grateful for space, I rolled my bump over onto its side and threw my leg over into my pregnancy pillow and let the bed cuddle my aching body. I closed my eyes, Dexter springing back and forth through my mind, should I have brought him up to our bed? Was he going to be alright down in his own bed? The little fleeting moments of fretfulness creeped around the dark clevis’s of my mind, but I rationalised them quickly, knowing he’d be in our room by the side of the bed rousing Jack or as soon as the sun came up and so I let sleep take over me. For the last night in a long time.
Very emotional read.. thanks for sharing.