What's Big & Green & Came Out of Wynn's Nose?

Wynn's had a cold for the last week or so. We all have. But hers was getting progressively worse as the week went on.

Last night she was doing these monstrous sneezes and coughing constantly. Scott and I agreed that if she didn't start getting better over the weekend, we'd take her to the doctor.

Well, this morning as I turned off the hair dryer, I could hear Scott yelling, "Ann! Come up here! I need your help!" He had that tone in his voice where I could tell it was serious, so I sprinted up the steps and found him holding Wynn in his arms on the bathroom floor. He explained that she was bleeding - a lot - and that he was having trouble getting it to stop. He told me to go strip her bed while he worked on getting this super-soaker of a bloody nose under control.

Her bed looked terrible. A big pool of bright red blood, soaked through both sheets and the mattress pad. And she was still bleeding.

Every time he'd get the bleeding under control, she'd sneeze and start it up all over again. She was covered in it, Scott was covered in it, most surfaces in the bathroom were covered in it. It was officially bad, so we both quickly called in sick and got her the first appointment of the day at the doctor's office.

She was in good spirits on the ride there and wasn't bleeding anymore. She pitched a fit in the waiting room when we wouldn't let her play with the germ-infested toys, but they got us back to the room quickly. The doctor looked up her nose and asked, "Is there something green up her nose?" Scott and I looked at each other, unsure of how to respond.

"Um, is it dried snot?" Scott ventured.

"No, it's bright green. She's got something up in there."

A walk upstairs to the ENT was next on the agenda. Nose-numbing spray was shot up her nose, and the ENT, who wore one of those old-school round mirror things on his head, brought out a nose-opening device and some long forceps. Then he extracted a bright green plastic bead from her right nostril while she sat on Scott's lap. (He held her head still, while the other doctor and I took care of the hands.)

Where did that bead come from?!

Wynn played dumb.

She shrugged.

She got quiet.

She'd never seen that thing before in her life.

Only in the car on the way home did she admit that she'd found it by her cot at school - several days earlier - and had put it up there for reasons she couldn't explain.

So, that's how our morning that started in panic ended up being kinda funny.

And that's Wynn's foreign-object-up-the-nose story, certain to be told and retold for years to come.

Back to the Doctor

Today was Wynn's wellness appoitnment at the doctor's office - to follow-up on her pneumonia and start getting data for her medical record. They did the weights and measures; here's how she fared: head circumference in the 50th percentile, height in the 5th percentile, and weight below the 5th percentile for her age - told you she's tiny. The doctor did remind us that the percentiles are based on all American babies, regardless of ethnic backgound. Being Asian, Wynn's going to tend to be smaller; still, we've been instructed to fatten her up. (That's why we stopped at McD's for dinner after the appointment; she REALLY likes chocolate shakes!)

Part of the visit today was a pretty hefty blood draw - five vials. She didn't like getting stuck; she wailed and cried the entire time. To her credit, though, she did stop crying within about two minutes of the blood draw. The tech's comment on working with her was, "Wow, she's strong!" Because of her size, I think people tend to expect her to be either much younger or much more frail than she actually is. There were three of us working to keep her arm straight and to stop her from wiggling too much - three of us vs. one tiny little her.

Another aspect of establishing medical records for Wynn involves collecting stool samples. We got the "equipment" on Monday and hoped (if that's the right word) to get the four required samples in time for today's appointment. We laughed out loud as we read the instructions: Do NOT get urine on the stool. Do NOT let the stool go in the toilet. Do NOT get the stool wet. (Wasn't that one of the warnings in "Gremlins"?) Wynn somehow sensed that we wanted those samples, so she and her colon promptly went on strike. So, we've had a ridiculous amount of fuss these past few days trying to coax our toddler into producing four pristine poops for us to bring in. She's never seen a potty chair before, so that just made her scream. All manner of wrestling holds, distractions, and bribes were used in our attempts to get the coveted samples, all the while we were telling her, "No, you can't just go in your diaper, Honey. You might pee too, and that would skew the data!" Anyhow, we're four days into the process and have only collected two viable samples, which Scott quickly mixed with the formulas and test tubes provided by the clinic. It's very CSI around here. (A few possible test subjects were lost in the bathtub tonight. What a waste.)

While all this has been going on, Scott's been coming down with the same crud Wynn's got. He's all congested, has a scratchy throat and fever, and feels like someone's punched him the ribs. The doctor told him to wait a few days since it's a virus; his grown-up immune system should be able to knock it out on its own. Fingers crossed!

Ann