Yesterday, Houston had his appointment with Dr. Xu, the orthopedic specialist. We were still highly concerned about all of his persisting symptoms: minimal right-arm mobility, lethargy, recurring pain and sensitivity that would sometimes bring my non-cryer to tears, and little to no appetite. Pretty much all his old complaints remained, only the fevers had gone.

Houston’s complexion had also become shockingly pale. When I say he looked white as a sheet, I’m serious. He didn’t have any rosiness to his cheeks and his usual olive tone was completely wiped clean by his sickness. Throw on top of that my already-skinny kid has lost probably close to 10 pounds since all this madness began less than two weeks ago, and needless to say, we were all highly concerned about his lack of improved health.

Houston cheerfully hugs his favorite bud, Snoop Joon (short for Snoopy Jr.), after snacking on peanuts and laughing with Mom, and then devouring an entire hotdog!

The doc – who was the specialist on call in the ER during both our hospital visits and made the original diagnosis – said Houston doesn’t have toxic synovitis. Once he gave Houston a physical, he said that this wasn’t an infection caused by a virus, but rather tendon inflammation most likely caused by … you guessed it … a virus.

See what simply laying your eyes and hands upon a patient can do. Xu knew immediately that the previous determination was wrong once he was actually present with the patient. Wouldn’t that have made things much easier for all of us – Houston, his family, the ER nurses and doctors and other staff, the radiation and blood techs, the pharmacies, the specialist and his practice and their other patients, the data-entry and medical coders, and all the insurance and billing folks who will eventually have to sift through and theorize price tags for all of Houston’s mistaken care – if the orthopedic simply would have made a visit to see my child on his first night in the hospital?

Oh no, they say. Specialists only look at breaks. They never make an in-person visit for any other ortho issues. Well, smarty britches, they should. And I may even challenge our bills once they ALL arrive in the never-ending dribs and drabs that healthcare providers and insurance companies love to mail. But I digress.

I’m not so much mad about the money; what I’m seething about is that my child could have avoided useless and harsh meds, a second sad trip to the ER (which was certainly the clincher to my now being sick), loss of vital calories and needed energy, sleepless nights, bouts of extreme pain, limited to crippled arm movement, days without schooling and time with friends, and of course, Houston just today beginning to be himself again.

I’m angry about a system that doesn’t care two hoots about humans, limiting suffering, and improving efficiency. A system that is bursting at the seams and doesn’t seem to be going anywhere but to hell in a hand-basket. I’m sad that all that ibuprofen and hydrocodone to treat a misdiagnosis masked some of Houston’s pain, but wasn’t making him well.

What he’s on now is burst steroid therapy: 3 teaspoons of Prednisone a day for five days, 2 teaspoons for two days, and then 1 teaspoon a day to finish it out. The dosage was so intense for his rail-thin frame that the pharmacist asked me what the heck the poor kid had and why he was needing such heavy stuff.

But the meds are working, slowly but surely. In fact, it was just this evening where we started to see glimmers of our old Houston lively Houston. He’s eating, laughing, wanting to go outside and see friends, being snarky, and making all those sweet sounds of unapologetic wonderment that only a child can create. He’s regaining his spark.

He was able to hold and write with a pencil and even played a little piano. And as of his last “physical” with Mom before bed, he could move his arm (although a bit hesitantly) in most directions, with the only real challenge coming from trying to raise his hand straight above his head. I’m telling you, his improvement was a blessed sight to behold!

Please keep praying for Houston, for I doubt he’s quite out of the woods yet. I’m actually taking him to his piano lesson tomorrow. I figure it’d be good therapy for him to try to play with his teacher, although I’m sure he won’t be able to make it the whole 45-minute lesson. I guess Gabe and Zeke will just get some extra time with Miss Julie if he can’t last.

And then we go back to see Xu on Friday. I’ll be sure to update everyone after that follow-up. Thanks so much for your continued prayers, calls, texts, and thoughts for our biggest Amigo. And thank you God for answering our supplications.

“May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace in believing, so that by the power of the Holy Spirit you may abound in hope.” – Romans 15:13