Bleurgh. Midwife came round again this morning and said that I was looking jaundiced down to my thighs. She pricked my heel and took a blood sample, and explained to Mum and Dad that she was going to have to get the bilirubin level (the toxin that causes jaundice) checked out at Barnet Hospital.
Boobie said it was nothing to worry about as Dad had jaundice for fifteen weeks when he was a baby. But when Louise the midwife rang Mum from Barnet Hospital to say that the jaundice levels were very high and I would have to be admitted for an overnight stay to get treatment, Mum got very upset. She didn't want to go into hospital again so soon.
Eventually we dawdled in to Barnet Hospital. Louise-the-Can't-Be-Too-Careful-Midwife had told us to go to A&E as they were expecting us. However when we got there, no one knew about us, from the dear in the floral blouse on A&E reception to anyone in Pediatrics. A nice-but-terribly-daft young Jewish doctor called Adam tried to make small talk with Mum about whether she'd had a caesarean birth. She replied rather curtly, "It's all in the notes," as she was getting really annoyed that no one actually seemed to be expecting us after all, and the birth didn't seem like a good topic to make small talk about. Then Adam said that they often ask rather than read the notes as it was friendlier and it was nicer if she could just be co-operative; to which Mum promptly bit his head off by telling him not to patronise her. Oooh, he was a bit more careful after that!
He checked me over and took another blood sample. Although the level was lower I still had to stay for treatment. Adam explained it to Mum & Dad and said that it was really simple and I might be out by tomorrow night. We had to wait ages to go up to the ward though because there was some sort of emergency going on with another child.
They got us up there eventually though, and I'm in Treasure Island ward along with a girl who's had her appendix out and is looking really ill as well as a few other children I haven't met yet. The nurse is being very nice to me but she keeps talking to Mum & Dad in the same squeaky ditsy way that she speaks to the children. And she calls them "Mum" and "Dad", which they find a little weird. She put me a see-through plastic crib which I hate and put a big orange plastic case over my head, which apparently protects my eyes. Then the nurses put two large UV lamps over me to break down the bilirubin.
I hate the crib. I hate the case. I hate the lights. I am Officially Unhappy and screaming my head off in case it gets me out of here.
Eventually we dawdled in to Barnet Hospital. Louise-the-Can't-Be-Too-Careful-Midwife had told us to go to A&E as they were expecting us. However when we got there, no one knew about us, from the dear in the floral blouse on A&E reception to anyone in Pediatrics. A nice-but-terribly-daft young Jewish doctor called Adam tried to make small talk with Mum about whether she'd had a caesarean birth. She replied rather curtly, "It's all in the notes," as she was getting really annoyed that no one actually seemed to be expecting us after all, and the birth didn't seem like a good topic to make small talk about. Then Adam said that they often ask rather than read the notes as it was friendlier and it was nicer if she could just be co-operative; to which Mum promptly bit his head off by telling him not to patronise her. Oooh, he was a bit more careful after that!
He checked me over and took another blood sample. Although the level was lower I still had to stay for treatment. Adam explained it to Mum & Dad and said that it was really simple and I might be out by tomorrow night. We had to wait ages to go up to the ward though because there was some sort of emergency going on with another child.
They got us up there eventually though, and I'm in Treasure Island ward along with a girl who's had her appendix out and is looking really ill as well as a few other children I haven't met yet. The nurse is being very nice to me but she keeps talking to Mum & Dad in the same squeaky ditsy way that she speaks to the children. And she calls them "Mum" and "Dad", which they find a little weird. She put me a see-through plastic crib which I hate and put a big orange plastic case over my head, which apparently protects my eyes. Then the nurses put two large UV lamps over me to break down the bilirubin.
I hate the crib. I hate the case. I hate the lights. I am Officially Unhappy and screaming my head off in case it gets me out of here.
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