Toxic synovitis in Houston’s shoulder

Houston and I made two trips to the urgent care today, as his pediatrician opened late due to inclement weather and appointments quickly filled up. Got sent home the first time with them saying, “Because of all the snow and viruses and flu going around, today’s a very busy day, and it’s a LONG wait. We’ll text you when there’s an opening.”

Finally in, and the NP tells us that she thinks Houston may have septic arthritis in his now nearly debilitated right arm, which she says has been causing his virus-like symptoms (not him having a typical winter virus and then an achy body as a result).

Let me say first that it has been determined (even though we’re still getting a second opinion to confirm) that he does NOT have sepsis. Thank God! But it took us 10 hours – yes, you heard that right, folks – 10 hours in the ER to figure that out.

After …

  • the waiting room from hell
  • triage care
  • more hellish waiting room with everyone donning surgical masks
  • x-rays
  • a return to the now brimming-with-sickness and festering-with-anger waiting room
  • after 3 1/2 hours, an official ER bed
  • a visit from a doc (but not THE doc)
  • blood work
  • lost blood work
  • more blood work
  • a mad dash to the hospital Subway (which was supposed to be open till 1 a.m. but picked tonight to close early)
  • vending machines that don’t advertise prices and require about a dozen swipes to purchase an item
  • an unanswered security re-entry door
  • a plain-clothes man with his wife and kid and a hospital badge who snuck me in an alternate entry
  • a highly anticipated dinner of Cheetos, Snickers, and Grape Crush; hours without results
  • tons of horrid cable TV whiling away the hours ’cause we – in our all grand innocence and with my low-charged cell phone – were highly unprepared for an ER campout
  • a visit from the billing/verify-who-you-are/insurance/HIPAA lady who woke my exhausted son
  • a PA who came in, woke Houston again, got a call, and then immediately went MIA
  • and incessant moans echoing throughout the coveted minimal private-room area just for good measure …
  • we finally got the diagnosis from the now reemerged PA (yet still never saw the bigwig orthopedist): toxic synovitis.

Translation? A temporary form of arthritis that causes pain in the shoulder or hip and develops after a viral infection … they think. Treatment? 382 mg of ibuprofen every six hours.

Needless to say, we would appreciate your prayers on this journey of getting our sweet Houston Lee back to tip-top shape. And if you don’t see us around this weekend, now you’ll know why.

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