I’ve mentioned before that August has a hemangioma on his right elbow. Most medical professionals will tell you that this is a “birthmark.” That’s a simplified explanation. In reality, it’s a cluster of blood vessels gone mad. They’re more common in girls than boys, more common in Caucasians as opposed to other minorities, more common in twins, and more common in premature babies. We’re batting three out of four with this group and both the twins have one although Louie’s is barely noticeable.
In about 15% of cases, these vessels gone mad can grow so rapidly that the skin that covers them actually breaks down, and the thing splits down the middle in a huge gaping ulcer. Yummy, right?
Well a week or so ago, August’s hemangioma began to scab and I just knew we were headed for an ulceration. I got the name of a doctor who treated someone else’s child very successfully, and we grabbed a cancellation spot.
Oh, but I have forgotten the pain that is a new doctor. August has a beautiful, practically spotless medical record, and as a result, the doctors and nurses talk to me like I’m new at this. I am not.
Doc doesn’t realize that THIS housewife with spit-up on her shoulder ain’t your average bear.
The recommended treatment for hemangiomas is a blood pressure medication. “Before he can take it, August will have to have some something called an EKG that measures the pulses of the heart.”
EKG? I think I’ve heard of that–in fact, I think Charlie’s had a dozen, and Louie’s had a couple as well.
“To get the EKG done, you will have to go to Children’s Hospital.”
Ok, I’ll go there. The only pediatric electro phys specialist in the state gave me a hug the last time he saw me. Because he’d just cardioverted the second of my sons to have uncontrollable SVT. But I guess I can see your guy.
“Sometimes, after having an EKG, they might have to do some further checking with a test called an Echo.”
I think I’ve heard of that one too. . .
“Try not to be alarmed if that happens.”
I am really difficult to scare at this point.
“Once he begins the medication, you’ll have to find a compounding pharmacy.”
Yeah, that’s the only kind we go to–we’re pharmacy snobs, actually.
“And here’s a syringe so you can give him a precise dose.”
Thanks. I’ve got my own syringes, actually, but yours is cute. I know that the doses are tiny, but don’t worry about me–I can practically draw meds in my sleep.
Okay, I didn’t really say any of that stuff–but I thought it really loudly.