Everyone dealing with a chronic illness has their fair share of scary stories. One of my most memorable is both humorous and scary. Let me set the scene. Tyler was about six years old and had a Broviac catheter. A Broviac port is different than an implanted one as it has a tube that hangs outside the chest, allowing easy access for IV medications. (It looks very similar to a PICC line.) Tyler was hospitalized with sepsis after running through reclaimed water with the neighborhood kids. (I wrote that tale in an earlier blog.) One of Tyler’s favorite activities in the children’s hospital was playing in the playroom. This is where I left him while I grabbed a quick shower.
After taking a shower, I went back to the playroom and discovered Tyler sitting at a chair that had a little tabletop attached to it. Apparently, the playroom had closed. He was alone and had a bunch of medical supplies in front of him. I was taking it all in when I noticed he had a medical mask and gloves on as well. In front of him, he had placed the white paper liner that comes in an IV kit down on the table top with syringes, alcohol pads and tape. “Hi Mama!”, he said with enthusiasm as he waved.
“What are you doing, Baby?”, I asked, still processing what I was witnessing. All the sudden I realized one of the syringes was attached to the end of his catheter which leads directly into his blood stream. He explained he was playing doctor and “flushing his port”. Tyler had always had an elaborate play doctor kit at home and infused many stuffed animals over the years. “What are you flushing your port with?”, words I never thought I’d have to say. “Water”. It was at that moment I noticed the paper cup next to the chair and realized that was the “water” in question. Where did this water come from? He led me by the hand into the floor’s kitchen area and pointed to the faucet. Ohhh, it was tap water! Tap water in your blood stream? That doesn’t sound good.
I quickly retrieved the nurse stating, “Tyler was sitting in the hall infusing himself with tap water.” The nurse had a look of sheer terror on her face. Then she literally ran down the hall to get her supervisor. Our doctor just happened to be nearby and overheard their conversation, so he came in as well. At this point, I had one of the two very entertaining conversations that day.
“So here is the good news”, he said as he slid in the exact type of chair Tyler had used for his “procedure”. “Tyler is already getting the exact kind of medicine we would use to treat someone who infused themselves with tap water.” He had this weird smirk on his face because I’m sure he never envisioned himself saying these words either. Then in walks our HTC nurse with a cheeky grin on as well. Here comes amusing conversation number two.
“I blame myself for this”, she stated. “We have been encouraging Tyler to participate in infusions, but we have not gone over the fact that he can’t do it alone.” At this point the doctor and I turned, surprised at what she was saying. “I think we should all be very impressed with Tyler’s sterile field and proper technique”, as she cracked a smile. She went on to note that he had used alcohol pads and wore gloves and a mask. Tyler, realizing he had done at least one thing right that day, now looked up with a smile of approval. He chimed in “that’s the way you taught me”, giving her credit. At this point, we all burst out laughing. The floor nurse, not so much.
Of course, so many questions still go through my head about that day. Like, how did he reach the faucet? Where did he get all the supplies? Yada, yada, yada… Years later, Tyler was in the same hospital when the floor supervisor came walking into his room. She addressed Tyler’s nurse. “Hey Megan, you know the story about the kid who put tap water in his port?”. “Yes! Who hasn’t”, she answered. “That’s him.”, she said chuckling as she walked out of his room. Apparently, Tyler had become like an urban legend on the floor. So, this story lives on. Tyler-1, Nurses-0.
Blogging about Bleeding Disorders 