Yesterday, Pepper was admitted to the ICU at Cook Children's Hospital for severe dehydration and Diabetic Ketoacidosis.  This happened because when he changed his insulin pump site at scout camp, somehow the cannula bent so he got zero insulin for several hours.  He was throwing up, and the camp nurse thought he was dehydrated, so she sent him home knowing he was diabetic and vomiting is nothing to mess with.

He came home sick, sick, sick, and thinking he was dehydrated, I started pushing water and Gatorade.  When he woke from a nap around 4:30, it was obvious something was hideously wrong.  Pepper looked like a zombie of himself--sunken eyes, grey skin, and I could see the blood vessels underneath his skin.  Everything about him looked shriveled up.

So, I got him to an ER as fast as I could, and once there, the doctors identified the DKA.  They sent him via ambulance to Cook Children's, where he was poked a thousand times as they tried to find a vein that was still able to take an IV.  It wasn't pretty.  Once he was finally hooked up, things calmed down for a brief moment, and I was alone with him for a few minutes.  That is when it got supremely ugly.  He started to claw at me and at his clothes and at the bed and at his IV's, his eyes unfocused as he growled and yelled at me.  The butch male nurse came running, as did everyone within hearing distance, including security.  It took six of us to restrain him and keep him from tearing out the IV's.  The doctor was called to OK a sedative, and he just kept repeating "This is concerning.  This is very concerning," while I held my zombie son down and cried.  Easily the worst ten minutes I've ever had.

Once Pep was calmed down, the doctor told me that a concern with DKA is that the brain will swell if they hydrate too fast, so the fact that he reacted like this could mean brain damage.  The next hour was easily the worst hour I've ever had as the doctor ordered a CAT scan and we waited for Pepper to wake.  Brad wasn't there yet as he was home making arrangements for Luke, and I called and told him to bring another priesthood holder with him because Pepper needed a blessing.  Then, I went into a hallway and cried like a baby.

By the time Brad arrived, Pepper was awake and speaking and acting reasonably and it was determined that his brain was OK.  HUGE relief.  Brad and a friend from our ward gave him a blessing, then left as I stayed with Pepper.  All night, I barely slept as I listened to his heavy breathing as his poor body tried to rid itself of the toxins caused by the DKA.

Today, Pepper is doing much, much better.  His breathing is no longer so labored, and he isn't throwing up.  He is still in the ICU so he can have insulin in his IV to keep his sugars regulated, but he is starting to say he is hungry.  He has also lost his shriveled-up look, which is a big relief.  They are saying we should move to the endocrine floor sometime today, which should be nicer.

Throughout all this, I can't help but think of my last hospital stay with Pepper when he was originally diagnosed with diabetes in Berlin.  I hated that week with every cell in my body, mostly because it felt like the hospital there was scary and horrific.  My friend Denise tried to put a positive spin on it and called it the Hogwarts Hospital, but to me it was a house of torture.

Let me remind you.

In direct contrast, Cook Children's Hospital is the Happy Fun Hospital.

This is the lobby, complete with a Build-a-Bear workshop and food court on the right.

Even the elevators are cheerful, decorated to look like a day at the park.

But, this is what I found to be the most glaring contrast:

This is the "sculpture" on the grounds of Cook Children's.

These are the sculptures on the grounds of Hogwarts Hospital.

Um, yeah.  If this had to happen, I am so glad it happened here.  I will take Happy Fun over Hogwarts any day.