QCH Day 3: Gastroscopy

It was a day of counting down the hours. Frankie would be put under general anaesthetic at 4pm but, until then, we had a relatively normal day ahead. We walked around the ward for the most part visiting the monkey murals that Frankie had become utterly obsessed with over the past few days.

For two days I had watched kids be wheeled back to the ward from theatre. Peaceful, passed out on the bed, being wheeled through the corridors. Then I had listened to them wake up from their peaceful slumber...generally screaming and confused. And I knew that this afternoon, that's what we had to look forward to.

We gave Frankie midazolam to help calm her down before her procedure and my lord did it work. All of a sudden we had a really drunk, friendly teenage girl in a 13 month old's body. Through half-closed bleary eyes, everyone got waved to! Especially the murals on the walls. As I spoke with the anaesthetist's assistant, Frankie really leaned into the relaxed vibe and pooped. I had no nappies, no wipes. Just a drunk baby in a random holding bay waiting for theatre. Thankfully the friendly nurse helped us out and we were on our way.

As soon as a gas mask got held over Frankie's face, all calm was lost. She screamed and cried until her eyes rolled back, I lay her on the table and she slowly went off to sleep. I was ushered out the door before they put two cannulas in and put her under a general anaesthetic. This tiny, tiny baby looked even smaller on that big table.

Chris and I waited in an area outside the elevators for what seemed like eternity. What was described as a ten minute procedure had us waiting for an hour as we watched every other family come and go. Eventually we got a call from the doctor and I think I knew immediately that it wasn't good news. With Frankie coughing and crying in the background he explained that the camera had dislodged the feeding tube and, despite numerous attempts to get it back into her small bowel, her anaesthetic had been wearing off and so they'd aborted their mission, leaving the tube in only as far as her stomach. I was disheartened because we all knew Frankie couldn't tolerate feeds into her stomach but hey, at least medication could still go down and they'd have it back in place tomorrow.

By the time I was called into Recovery 20 minutes later, Frankie (the child who will only be held by Chris, me and her grandma) was sitting on some random person's lap, sobbing, disoriented, drowsy as all hell and...most interestingly...sans tube. I grabbed her and the pile of blankets she was wrapped in and listened to her soft cries in my ear. She sounded defeated. As I looked around at the anaethetist, his assistants and the nurses, everyone looked sheepish. Sorry even.

After putting two and two together it was clear to me what had happened. The doctor had left after calling me but, by that stage Frankie must have started stirring despite still being intubated. In the rush to get the breathing tube out they'd ripped up her throat and made her so upset she vomited her tube out her mouth. The anaesthetist looked honestly sorry as he acknowledge that this procedure had certainly not gone to plan.

They hooked up the cannula in her tiny foot and pain management was our immediate concern as we took our exhausted, terrified, confused baby back to the ward and held her tight. Obviously still out of whack from the anaesthetic, and in pain from her ripped up, bleeding throat, we were furious that the only strong pain killers they charted for her were oral. Oral. For the kid with the oral aversion who currently had no feeding tube. And when we asked for it to be changed to IV, they told us that such strong pain killers couldn't be given via IV on this particular ward. Essentially Frankie was being asked to remain in pain because she was averse to eating and drinking. Being punished almost. IV Panadol was the best she was going to get.

All we could do was cross our fingers and toes that she'd be scheduled to have a new tube put back in under x-ray sooner rather than later tomorrow because the hours since she had been fed were growing and growing. And cuddle her. Because every time she stirred slightly from sleep, she cried and moaned and my heart bled.