In the last few days of March two years ago, something was very wrong with my (then) almost-four-month-old baby boy, Sweetheart. I'd taken him to two different ERs in 24 hours, and each set of docs and nurses passed his symptoms off as multiple infections that would pass in a matter of days. All I knew was that he was very sick and not at all like himself. I was instructed to follow up with his doctor in a couple days. I did, but when I arrived at the office, I was told the doctor had moved on to his new assignment (military doc), and we would be seeing his replacement. My heart sank, because even though the doc and I had trouble communicating (he had a thick accent and I often misunderstood him), at least he knew my son.
Our new pediatrician was an "older" doctor, in her fifties. She looked Sweetheart over, took detailed notes as I relayed the events of the last few days, even noting what day certain newer symptoms appeared. She sat and thought and thought, and started pulling out her huge medical books. I had very mixed feelings... I felt like I was finally being seriously listened to, and it was nice to see she had an idea what it could be, but it was also intimidating to see her flip through the pages, muttering names of diseases.
She found the page she wanted, and let me read it with her. She mentioned the onset of different symptoms my son had and how they had progressed... she gave me a name: Kawasaki disease. Yup, just like the motorcycles. Basically, it's the inflammation of the blood vessels, and it can result in death, especially if untreated. But if caught in enough time, the child will have no lasting damage to the heart.
She made a few calls, and very quickly, we had an appointment at a nearby hospital with a team of doctors. They looked him over, had a conference, and decided our son had to be hospitalized. He stayed a total of four days, during which he was given an IVIG, which is an intravenous dose of immunoglobin. He had a whole team of doctors that regularly had conferences during those four days to discuss his progress and to see if we had any concerns or questions.
Over the next year, Sweetheart had to have periodic exams of his heart to watch one particular artery. He was also put on lose doses of aspirin for 3 months. We got really chummy with the pediatric cardiologist. And Sweetheart hated those ultrasounds and EKGs.
God had His hand alllll over that whole situation. He gave us the perfect doctor who didn't dismiss the symptoms. The team of doctors at the hospital was also military, and several of them had just returned from assignments in Hawaii in the weeks prior, where KD is much more prevalent. These men were quite experienced, and they, too, arrived at just the right time.
Sweetheart was given a huge green light a year ago: the artery that was affected by the KD is fine now, and you cannot tell that it ever was.
So today I hug him a bit tighter and praise God that my fella is so healthy! I could have easily lost my little boy, but God took care of him. Even by moving military doctors around the world to be at the right clinics and hospitals at the exactly right time. Isn't God wonderful?
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