Eloïse is back at school, but now a fully fledged eersteklasser. The transition was painless; enjoyable, even. All of the children in the higher years assembled in the eurythymy hall and sang to the new eersteklassers as they entered the room, crossing a symbolic wooden bridge in the process. It was a touching sight and another poignant reminder of the inexorable march of time, those grains of sand slipping ever faster through our fingers, our children growing, ripening, finding their way in a world that is ever more alien, inhospitable and unlikeable to their father. The older they get, the more they learn to cope with and take their world for granted. The older I get, the more out of step I feel with the world I live in, as if this planet and I have deviant orbits, and I am watching myself become ever more tangential to the society I nominally inhabit. Sometimes, my family feel like the only tethers binding me to this earth.

With school come all of the extracurricular activities that fill the weekly calendar, leaving scarcely enough time to do groceries and eat meals. Even finding the time to shave, shit and shower can be a challenge now. At least two of those activities can be deemed non-essential and indefinitely postponed.

Ilias continues to thrive, his incarceration in the hospital now little more than an anecdote that I still recount almost daily to those we haven’t seen since his birth. It’s interesting to gauge the reactions, which run the gamut from those who think the doctors saved his life, to those who think that the integrity of our family was violated by a bunch of arrogant bastards in white coats.

Florence and Mike returned to Providence a week ago. I can’t thank them enough for the support they gave the children and me while Sarah and Ilias were being wrung through the medical mangle. I don’t know how we would have coped without them.

We delayed going to the hospital to pick him and Sarah up until the afternoon, so that Eloïse and Lucas could attend a clay modelling activity at the VUmc‘s truly amazing Kinderstad facility at 15:00.

Kinderstad has to be seen to be believed. Just about every kind of toy imaginable can be found there, from building blocks to a Nintendo Wii, from football to fancy dress, from finger paint to a gigantic two storey slide, from the cabin of a real aeroplane to a suite of Apple Macs for making movies, from television and Internet to complete DJ suites for mixing records. There is so much to see and do that the children who come here can forget, even if it’s just for a short while, that they’re sick.

Kinderstad isn’t just for sick children, though. Brothers and sisters are welcome, too, which is good, because Eloïse and Lucas can get a lot more out of the place at the moment than young Ilias. Even children returning for out-patient treatment at the polyclinic are welcome.

We didn’t want to deny Eloïse and Lucas their last real opportunity to play there, so we took our time in getting to the hospital. Sarah was in no real rush to leave, anyway. It was her seventh day in residence there and she had grown used to her temporary surroundings, perhaps even enjoying to some degree the peace and quiet of her enforced pseudo-solitary confinement.

After Eloïse and Lucas finished up in Kinderstad, we went to the hospital’s dispensary on the other side of the road to pick up Ilias’ prescription, enough Amoxicillin for another four days of treatment, making for ten in all. He gets it three times a day, orally, via a syringe.

With that in the bag, we left the building and, without looking back, headed home to resume normal family life. The coming days will see us gradually putting this experience behind us, learning whichever valuable lessons we can from it, and retaining whichever peripheral benefits there are to be gleaned, such as the new-found willingness of Eloïse and Lucas to be put to bed by their papa.

The last week has been a stressful, hectic experience. With nary a moment to draw breath, the time has flown by surprisingly quickly. It’s hard to believe this all began last Wednesday. At the same time, I paradoxically feel as if I’ve been making the journey to the hospital for several weeks. Ilias’ sojourn in hospital hangs like a black hole in the firmament of my memory. In time, we’ll look back on the photos of him with a tube stuck in his tiny head, shake our own head and say, ‘Remember that?’

Thank you to everyone who has written with well wishes and kind words over the last few days. Your concern was and still is much appreciated. In particular, I must thank Sarah’s folks, without whom I really don’t know how I would have coped. They fed the family and looked after Ilias’s siblings while I was at the hospital with my baby boy and his mother.

The staff of the VUmc are also due a word of thanks, particularly the nurses (and even more particularly nurse Jansje), who took very good care of Ilias and Sarah while they were somewhat reluctant guests there. They made an awful situation tolerable and we are truly appreciative of that.

And now, back to normal life, whatever that is.

Upon arrival in Radiology and the removal of Ilias’ nappy, the radiologist was surprised to find that a catheter had not yet been placed. After a brief exchange with our nurse, we left with Ilias and made our way to the department where this unfortunate adventure had all begun last Wednesday afternoon. There, two nurses soon appeared and proceeded to insert a catheter into Ilias’ bladder via his tiny penis, an experience that was as gruelling for me as it was for my little boy. Easy to say, I know, as someone who had only to watch, not actually have it done to him, but the experience caused me quite some distress. There’s no experience that compares to the agony of watching your child in pain and being unable to help.

Back in Radiology, the mictie cystogram itself was much less of an ordeal. Sarah and I donned lead overcoats to protect us from the radiation — no such luck for Ilias, of course — and he was hooked up to the bag of contrast fluid, which was then slowly pumped into his bladder.

Sarah and I watched on the screen, as the fluid diffused to fill Ilias’ tiny bladder, colouring it black in the process. The liquid itself had no colour, but whatever it contained showed up black on the screen.

To my inexpert eye, the fluid appeared to remain entirely within the bladder, but I’m not a doctor, so we waited for the end of the procedure. With all of the necessary x-rays taken, the balloon holding the catheter in place was deflated and Ilias began to pee, causing the catheter to be ejected from his body, which denoted the end of the procedure.

We had expected to have to wait until the evening for the results of the test, but they were so unambiguous that we were immediately informed that nothing unusual had been found. The relief and happiness I felt at hearing this news is the greatest I have felt since Ilias was born, almost four weeks ago. I can’t describe how elated I felt.

We returned to the children’s ward and, within half an hour or so, the paediatric nephrologist turned up to discuss the results of the examination.

It was good news, obviously, and meant that, at this point, his infection could be attributed to sheer bad luck. Exactly how it occurred, we’ll never know, but we’re told it almost certainly occurred internally, in the bowel or possibly via the bloodstream, but almost certainly not via a nappy full of excrement, as I had originally thought.

This isn’t quite the ‘all clear’, however. We’re told that the original infection carries a risk of permanent kidney damage, which could lead to a lifelong dependency on medicine against high blood pressure. We won’t be able to establish whether this is the case, however, for a further six months, at which time the nephrologist wants us to come back for a nuclear examination, which involves injecting radioactive liquid into the body and observing how it clings to the kidneys. You can imagine how eager we are to inject radioactive material into our son’s body, can’t you?

Ilias’ infusion needle failed this morning. Rather than place another needle in his body, he has instead been switched over to oral antibiotics. The danger with these is that he becomes sick with diarrhoea or vomits some or all of it out. If that doesn’t happen, there’s a good chance that Ilias will be discharged from hospital Tuesday afternoon, but we’re not counting out chickens until they actually hatch.

Eloïse and Lucas have gone to bed this evening for the sixth night without their mother. Before this derailment of our lives, they had never spent a night apart from her, or even in a different room. They both miss Sarah and Ilias very much, but are proving very resilient in the circumstances. Eloïse tells me she misses Ilias the most, because she has known him only a short amount of time.

Indeed, it’s pitiful that Ilias has now spent a quarter of his short time on earth in residence at the hospital. What a way to start out your life, pricked like a pincushion, pumped full of antibiotics and with a pipe rammed down your pisser. Having a thermometer stuck up your arse several times a day is almost light relief by comparison!

His first three weeks at home now seem distant, overwhelmed by the drama of the last few days and the deep impressions made by his new surroundings, invasive medical treatment and the fears and concerns that have beset us.

My two visits a day to the hospital are now part of the daily rhythm of life. I feel as if I’ve been making that same journey for weeks. Today, I actually only went once, because I stayed from 11:45 to 18:15, so there didn’t seem to be much point in going back.

Tomorrow, Eloïse, Lucas, Sarah’s folks and I will head to the hospital after lunch; possibly for the last time. We hope to hear in the course of the afternoon that we can take Ilias home. I don’t dare focus on it, just in case there’s a setback that prevents it from happening, but I hope that the family won’t have to spend another night apart.

The good news is that Ilias is doing well.

The results of the urinal culture came back yesterday and showed E. coli bacteria in his urinal tract. This was as suspected.

We’re hoping he suffered just a fluke and got some poop in his piss pipes, but he’ll be undergoing a mictie cystogram tomorrow afternoon to make sure that he doesn’t have any anatomical defects that may have precipitated the issue.

I don’t know the English word for mictie cystogram, but they basically inject contrast fluid into his bladder via a catheter and wait to see whether any flows upwards towards his kidneys, which would indicate a bad valve. If that happens, he may need an operation, so we’re really hoping it doesn’t. Just watching them insert the catheter is going to be bad enough. Even the doctors will admit that it causes “discomfort”, which tells you enough.

Other than a possible physical abnormality somewhere, he’s fine, though. His temperature has returned to normal and he continues to drink healthily from the breast. Visually, at least, he is a picture of perfect health. Hopefully, the same is true of his plumbing.

The doctor examined him, then told us he saw nothing untoward. We should keep an eye on him and make sure that he stayed hydrated. We agreed to call the next day with a status update.

Wednesday morning, Ilias’ fever was subsiding. It was below 38°C and steadily dropping by the hour. Good news, we thought; he was on the mend.

We called the doctor, as arranged, and gave him our update. He asked us to bring in a sample of pee, so that he could test it. Ilias wasn’t required to attend.

I biked the bottle of pee over to his surgery at 11:30 and noted that it was cloudy. The doctor made the same observation, then ran a test on it and informed me that there was a possibility that Ilias had somehow sustained a urinary tract infection. He made an appointment for Ilias with a paediatrician at the VU Medisch Centrum for the same afternoon.

The doctor’s manner as he wrote out the referral for Ilias was laconic, so I thought we were going to the hospital for what amounted to a second opinion. I expected the paediatrician there to look at the temperature chart we’d been keeping, see that things were quickly returning to normal, and send us home with the advice to keep an eye on things for a couple of days.

That’s what we expected. Here’s what actually happened.

After arriving at the hospital and registering Ilias as a first-time patient, we reported to the Paediatrics department, where we had the appointment. We were soon ushered into a room, where a female doctor joined us shortly afterwards.

This doctor informed us that she wanted to insert a catheter into Ilias’ tiny penis in order to extract some pee for a urine test. This was an unwelcome opening salvo and quite unnecessary as far as we were concerned. Fuck that!

We told her that Ilias can pee on command, which is true. We hiss in his ear and he starts to pee. You can scoff, but it has to be seen to be believed. He does this reliably.

Unfortunately, the doctor then partially undressed him to examine him with a stethoscope, causing him to pee a large amount into his nappy. This left him with nothing left to pee for the sample.

We continued to protest against the idea of a catheter and managed to buy ourselves some time with the jar of pee we had brought with us. The doctor was first afraid that the jar wouldn’t have been sterile when we used it, but we explained that it had been cleaned with boiling water and this was then deemed acceptable.

We were soon joined by a nurse, another doctor and a woman whose job it was to draw blood. Each began to chip in with observations and advice. The pressure on us was quickly ratcheted up and an obvious, concerted effort was being made to make us succumb to the will of the white coats.

The precise chronology of events becomes a blur at this point, because things suddenly started to move very quickly.

In my recollection, a couple of very awkward, painful and extremely stressful attempts at drawing blood came next. Ilias screamed and squealed like a piglet as the needle was pushed into his tiny vein.

After what seemed like an eternity, blood was extracted, the ordeal finally ended and we were sent to another building, accompanied by the nurse, to await an ultrasound scan of Ilias’ nether regions.

That was a relatively relaxed affair, by comparison, but turned up a slight thickening somewhere near the renal pelvis.

Back on the other side of the hospital, we were confronted with the blood and urine test results, which, together with the ultrasound, all confirmed the diagnosis of a suspected urinary tract infection. We were informed that the hospital wished to admit Ilias and immediately begin administering a course of antibiotics.

At that point, things started to take on a surreal element, as we found ourselves participating in what felt like a theatrical production with us cast involuntarily in the leading roles.

A heated discussion ensued. We stressed that Ilias’ fever was dissipating and explained our stance on antibiotics, namely that they wreak havoc on intestinal flora, particularly in such a young child, and are an absolute last resort, as far as we’re concerned.

After being given some time alone to consider our options, we were interrupted and politely but firmly informed that we actually had no options, so we may as well acquiesce and expedite the proceedings. We sought clarification, just to be sure there was no misunderstanding, but we had correctly understood their meaning. If we refused treatment for Ilias, steps would be taken to have our parental authority revoked, so that he could be treated regardless. Visions of being restrained by security guards or police officers began to flash in front of my eyes. I suddenly felt as if I was playing the role of a Jehovah’s Witness in some bad movie.

At this point, it dawned on me that they thought Ilias might actually be going to die. When I said as much, the language the doctors’ used became steadily less flowery until they admitted in no uncertain terms that, yes, he might die if we didn’t act soon.

It was a lot to take on board. After all, just a couple of hours previous, we had been of the opinion that our son was shaking off the remnants of a two day fever and was almost back to normal. His behaviour was that of a healthy baby. It was rather hard to accept from the assembled group of people that he was actually so direly in need of treatment that a court order might be necessary in order to guarantee that he receive it.

Fast-forwarding somewhat, we consented to the treatment, which was to have been my decision anyway, irrespective of the duress. Sarah strongly felt that she had been pressurised into the decision, which she had, but I was too alarmed and afraid by then to feel much indignation. I just wanted my son to remain alive.

Multiple failed and very painful attempts were made at putting in an infusion needle, but they just couldn’t tap into one of Ilias’ minuscule veins. He screamed and writhed in pain at each intrusion of the needle into his tender young flesh. It was absolutely fucking heartbreaking to listen to his helpless, tortured squeals. Every nerve in my body was telling me, as his parent, to get up, kick the shit out of these fuckers and end his torment there and then.

Cutting a long story short — I need to sleep — Ilias has been admitted to hospital and now has an infusion needle in his scalp, after the previous line in his foot also failed following a single infusion. He is being given an infusion of wide-spectrum antibiotics three times a day.

Sarah is with him 24 hours a day and he — and thus she, too — is expected to remain in hospital for at least a week.

Today (Thursday), Ilias no longer has a fever and appears to be a perfectly fit, healthy baby. From the doctors’ point of view, though, they got to him early and he is responding to the treatment.

It will be a few days before the blood culture reveals which bacteria are present in his blood. At that point, they’ll know whether he has been on the most effective course of antibiotics, or whether they’ll need to start him on a new course of more directed medicine. Some antibiotics can be administered orally, others have to be given intravenously; so, depending on how well chosen the current drugs are, and whether or not any new antibiotics to be taken a few days from now can be given orally or not, the duration of Ilias’ stay in the hospital will be determined in due course.

That still leaves the question of how he developed this infection in the first place. No anatomical abnormalities were found during the ultrasound, but a close inspection of his valves has not yet been conducted. It could be that one of these valves is leaking fluid in the wrong direction. Equally, it could simply be a case of extraordinarily bad luck, with a fleck of faeces having found its way into Ilias’s urethra, possibly via a particularly full nappy.

There are tests that can be done to determine the presence of faulty valves, but these haven’t yet really been discussed. It’s still early days.

Eloïse and Lucas have spent their first night without their mother, which, all things considering, went very well. The whole family, including Sarah’s mum and dad, visited Ilias and Sarah in hospital today. Naturally, that’s a trip we’ll be making every day until we can bring them home.

I’ve left out a lot of detail from this story, but with a wife and mother in hospital and two children to care for at home, there aren’t enough hours in the day at the moment.

I’m keeping an album with photos of Ilias’s stay in the hospital. The photos don’t make for very pleasant viewing.

I’m lucky enough that I get to have both: the root canal yesterday, the in-laws’ arrival tomorrow.

On a more positive note, I don’t have cancer (as far as I know).

He wasn’t terribly impressed with the baby bath, but a couple of days later, Sarah put him in the shower sling and took him under the shower with her. He seemed to really like that and didn’t mind the water spraying all over him.

Today, we took the children in the car and went to the Amsterdamse Bos, more specifically the goat farm there. This was an important confirmation of the new car’s ability to seat the three children in a row with with plenty of room to spare. Lucas and Ilias were in ISOFIX child seats, with Eloïse seated on one of the collapsible booster seats that we had built into the outer seats of the second row.

The real test, however, was for Ilias. How would he cope with being driven in the car? Neither Eloïse or Lucas had enjoyed their first journey, that’s for sure. Even now, it’s always touch and go whether Lucas will manage to keep the contents of his stomach on the inside.

Well, I’m pleased to say that Ilias currently leads the board in the easy car baby stakes. He didn’t wince, either on the way there or on the way back. Perhaps he was too distracted by his big brother and sister staring at him (at this young age, he faces backwards in his car seat).

Before we went out, I managed to catch some nice shots of Ilias sleeping.

If you think I should abandon this blog, just let me know. Or rather, don’t, because you’re not reading it, anyway. Just fail to comment and I’ll figure out on my own that I should be spending my time more usefully.

Anyway, to the business at hand…

Ilias is now just over a week old. He’s made his inaugural trip to Bagels & Beans, twice in fact, but slept through the experience both times. For Sarah, too, it was the first time outside the door in a week. I’m sure that felt good.

Ilias lost his umbilical cord after just three or four days. It dried up and dropped off as expected. I’m always glad to see that shrivelled black thing snap off.

Sarah’s mum is struggling somewhat with Ilias’s name(s). It’s a grandparent’s prerogative, I suppose. Apparently, Sarah’s brother is planning to call his next child Hawk, Hawkin or something like that. I think that’s the greater challenge, personally. Ours names are much better, but then I would say that, wouldn’t I?

Laura, our midwife, came here yesterday for a final visit. She brought with her a dried placental membrane, which she has framed for us with a handwritten account of the birth. It’s an instant heirloom and something already very special to me.

It was also Grietje’s last day today. Woe is us, now our maternity nurse has gone. It has been a pleasure to have Grietje around and the children were, by now, very accustomed to her presence. She will be missed. It’s all down to us now, as our routine reverts to something resembling the pre-Ilias era.

Ilias underwent his hearing test yesterday, which he passed without difficulty. He also had blood extracted from his heel to be tested for various diseases.

His weight has almost returned to that of his birth. Some loss in the first week is completely normal and he should grow beyond his birth weight in the next couple of days.

Ilias now has his own vanity domain, iliasm.net, to match Eloïse’s, eloisem.net and Lucas’s, lucasm.net. Overkill, perhaps, but they may prove useful one day. In fact, I’m certain they will.

Our difficulties with choosing names for our children are well documented. If reading that gives you a sense of déjà vu, that’s hardly surprising, because they’re actually really well documented.

This was almost the hardest decision we’ve ever had to make, to my mind surpassed only by the deliberations that surrounded deciding whether or not to buy our current home a few years ago.

We’ve had a good idea what the baby’s first name would be for several months, regardless of a male or female outcome, but the cerebration regarding the other names continued through the weekend, the result of which was that one final change was instituted late yesterday afternoon. For us, girls are easier to name than boys. We don’t really understand why that is so, but it’s definitely true for both Sarah and myself. As such, we had quite a firm idea of the additional names we would bestow on a girl, whereas our options for a boy were much more provisional.

When Sarah and I awoke this morning, we had no further doubts and thus knew that we had finally arrived at our new son’s name.

The Dutch sun must have been waiting for August, because the transition from July has seen the weather here dramatically improve. Today is a beautiful, sunny day.

Once I’d seen to the morning’s immediate chores, I biked over to the stadsdeelkantoor on the President Kennedylaan and registered the birth of our latest offspring. Today is the our final day to do so without risking the wrath of the Dutch bureaucratic hydra, so I wanted to be there well before closing time. It was very busy, probably because a lot of their staff are now away on their holidays.

Whereas Lucas was given a hooded bath towel for the achievement of being born, Ilias’s gift was a cuddly toy in the same I Amsterdam theme. The gift was accompanied by a card emblazoned with the message Welkom nieuwe Amsterdammer! (Welcome, new Amsterdammer!). The text on the other side, loosely translated, reads:

Dear parent,

The city has gained a new Amsterdammer! Congratulations on the birth of your child. And with this birth gift, I would like to welcome your child to our city.

Amsterdam is a vivacious, idiosyncratic and colourful city. We feel it’s important that your child grows up healthy and makes use of the facilities that the city has to offer, playing with friends, actively participating at school, taking part in sports, dancing or making music. Together with you, we’ll work to make this happen.

I wish you and your child a bright future,

The mayor of Amsterdam
Eberhard van de Laan

It’s the little things in life that count, don’t you think? I think it’s a nice touch that new babies (and their parents) are welcomed to the city in this way. It promotes a sense of belonging.

The outside of the house is decorated with blue streamers and a couple of large plastic storks, so no-one in the neighbourhood can be in any doubt that our family has gained a new member. Most people are probably on holiday, anyway.

I took care of Ilias’s health insurance this afternoon, adding him to our family’s policy. Hopefully he won’t be causing me to make any claims on it for the foreseeable future, but it’s good to take care of such details as soon as possible.

Time, now, to turn my attention to more photos. Yesterday’s photos are already on-line.

We didn’t even manage to take any photos on Thursday or Friday, but are rectifying that today with a selection of shots of the three children together. You can’t imagine how proud I am of my little bunch; not to mention their mother. It’s twee in the extreme, but she’s given me the most amazing, precious gift I could ever imagine.

OK, I promise I won’t descend into that level of tweeness again.

The last few days have been hard work. Thank the civilised Dutch state for kraamzorg, that’s all I can say. When you have a new baby, an immobile wife and two healthy, energetic children to take care of, you’re grateful for absolutely any chore that can be taken off your hands. Even something as simple as emptying the dishwasher is a relief not to have to do, when there are so many other similar tasks competing for one’s attention. No single task takes a long time, but combined, they somehow take from dawn till dusk (and beyond).

I got almost six hours of sleep last night, so I’m feeling on top of the world compared to how I felt yesterday.

Grietje, the kraamverzorgster, has taken Eloïse and Lucas to the park, which has freed me up for an hour. A whole hour, just for me! Sarah is sleeping upstairs with the baby. Yes, he’s still the baby. His first name has been decided and is set in stone. The others, well, let’s just say they’re currently set in wet cement. They may still change over the course of the weekend, but, one way or another, we’ll be ready to announce his full name on Monday.

Eloïse and Lucas have a play date this afternoon, so I’m hoping to spend a little more time with my new son today. Although it’s his arrival that gave rise to the whirlwind of activity of the last few days, he, himself, is actually tranquil and undemanding, blissfully unaware of the somewhat coordinated chaos reeling around him.

We’ve had the meconium nappies and his poop has traversed several hues to arrive at its current brownish orange. He’s peeing like a trooper, maintaining a good body temperature and suckling well on the boob. In other words, all is as it should be with him.

I took Eloïse and Lucas to the zoo yesterday afternoon. We got there late in the day, so I bought a year membership for the whole family, so that we can return as many times as we wish over the next twelve months.

My main challenge this summer is going to be keeping the elder two sufficient entertained and physically exercised. The good thing about a summer birth is that the family’s diary is almost empty, so there are few external obligations and appointments to keep.

The bad thing about a summer birth is… that the family’s diary is almost empty, so there are few moments that Eloïse and Lucas are away from both of their parents, which makes it hard to keep them busy without resorting to the television. At this stage of the proceedings, time spent with Eloïse and Lucas is mostly time not spent with the baby, so it’s a real juggling act to ensure that everyone’s emotional, mental and physical needs are met.

And with that, it’s time to move on to other duties.