Bell and I are in the hospital. I hate hospitals, but not as much as Bella does. She is still ticked about this IV and keeps showing it to me with an accusing glance. Yes, I was the one that had to lay on her while two nurses inserted the catheter. But that contempt pales in comparison to how she feels about the nasal cannula. She is very defensive of her body. I believe she has every right to be. The scars criss- crossing her tiny frame are one evidence of her reasons. You don't touch the g-tube. Don't lift her shirt or even think the thought. But she HATES anyone touching her face. Well, when you are stating in the seventies, medical personnel really think oxygenation is a higher priority. It astonishes me how often people tell me how strong Bella is. Why? Doesn't it take three grown adults to put a nasal cannula on an eleven kilo kid every day? Don't let her skinny little battle scarred body fool you. Inside beats the soul of a warrior who will fight viciously.
So as we plod through our fifth night with this crud, I am remembering fondly the days when turning up her oxygen was easy, when nebs just went inline, when peep could be adjusted with the turn of a dial.
Daddy told Bella when we headed to the hospital to remember that everyone was trying to help her. Poor thing. She just doesn't understand. Fight or flight. She chooses to fight.
Seriously, I am so proud of how far she has come, but it's harder to care for her in an acute setting this way.
Pneumonia vs Bella. I'll put my money on Bella, my fighter.