Francis Is Poorly

Last Tuesday Francis went for his latest set of immunisations. As Graeme and I have decided that Francis won't be having the MMR, the nurse decided to give Francis both Pneumococcal jabs at the same time to save us going back in four weeks. I'd been dreading him having his jabs, but it was far less traumatic than I expected. There was some crying, but Francis calmed down within a minute or so and quickly forgot what I'd subjected him to. As with previous jabs Francis slept for quite a while once we got home and for the rest of the day was a bit grumpy. It wasn't until Wednesday that things started to go horribly wrong.

Francis seemed his usual self on Wednesday morning. He woke, had a feed and then I took him downstairs for his porridge. He was yumming it up as usual, but about halfway through the bowl, Francis started retching, then promptly projectile spewed the whole lot back up while I watched in complete disbelief. I'd never seen anything like it. I gave up on his breakfast, cleaned him up and put him back to bed. He went to sleep straightaway, but about 20 minutes later was crying. I went in to his room to find him lying in a pool of sick. As I was cleaning this up, Francis seemed to perk up a bit so I brought him back downstairs and he happily ate a banana.

It wasn't long before he was tired again so I put him down for a nap and he slept for three and a half hours. I was worried out of my mind because this is so unlike him, so I was checking on him all the time. By the time he woke up it was 3pm so I thought he must be starving. He was full of life and smiling so I guessed it would be OK to give him something. I was wrong. A few mouthfuls in and it all came up again and more besides. He accepted a few mouthfuls of yoghurt, but refused the rest and wouldn't entertain the kiwi fruit I offered him, so I gave up on lunch at that point.

About an hour after lunch I'd started wishing I'd not bothered to give him anything! I was sat on the sofa with Francis standing beside me and he started retching again. I didn't think there was much left on his stomach, but my god was I wrong! It just kept coming. We were both covered in sick, as was the sofa. I had to strip Francis off and get changed myself. It felt like no sooner had I sat back down in my clean clothes, he was being sick again. He got so upset because his stomach was virtually empty and it must have really hurt him. At this point he started to get really lethargic and spent much of the rest of the day laying on my lap watching telly, when usually he won't stay still for 30 seconds.

On Wednesday night before we went to bed, we popped in his room to check on him and were immediately struck by the most foul disgusting smell; I knew instantly I was about to change a very nasty nappy. To make matters worse, Francis was lying in a pool of sick. I have no idea how this didn't wake him up. The nappy was full to the brim with most disgusting poop ever and the smell was overwhelming; I had to open the window. How there was no leak I will never know - Pampers obviously have very good quality control.

The following day Francis went rapidly downhill. His temperature shot up, he couldn't keep any solids down at all, though he was managing to keep down breastmilk and water. I got quite scared when he started shaking despite being red hot, so I rang Graeme at work who managed to get Francis an emergency appointment at the GP. The GP assured me that Francis wasn't having a bad reaction to the jabs (though I remain unconvinced), but was suffering from gastroenteritis. He prescribed paracetamol and ibuprofen to bring Francis's temperature down and dioralyte to replace any lost fluids. The GP told me that if Francis developed a rash (i.e. suspected meningitis) or if we had any concerns at all, to take him straight to A&E at Alder Hey Children's Hospital.

That evening Francis took a turn for the worse and I really thought we might have to take him to hospital. He started bring up fluids too and was so lethargic he could barely move. I didn't dare put him to bed on his own so he stayed up with us until we went to bed. I wanted to keep a close eye on him so he slept in the bed with me while Graeme had the sofabed. I couldn't bring myself to close my eyes and just lay there staring at Francis making sure he was OK. I eventually fell asleep in the wee small hours through sheer exhaustion. It was a restless night for me as Francis woke several times for a feed and thankfully he kept the milk down.

The overnight breastfeeding obviously helped because he seemed a bit better by Friday morning, and each day since we've seen tiny improvements, but he still has a long way to go. He didn't vomit today and is tolerating small amounts of solid food, but is still very lethargic and extremely irritable and tearful. I'm finding it very tough going. Francis wants to breastfeed a lot and I'm only used to two feeds a day. As a result I've been really sore and physically drained. I'm ashamed to say that the thought crossed my mind of quitting breastfeeding completely as I reached the point where I couldn't bare to latch him on because of the pain. Thankfully, I got through the pain and am now happy to feed Francis as much as he wants, but I'm exhausted - probably because my body is working overtime to produce all the extra milk.

I really wish I could make Francis better, but unfortunately I'm not Supermum. I hate seeing him like this. It's funny to think that when he was tearing around the house I'd have given anything for him to keep still for 5 minutes, but now that he is I hate it! I miss my happy, live wire and can't wait to have him back.

Lisa xxx