“They were doing the most obvious tests first,” mom Abbey Lee recalled recently. She and her husband, Nick, were sitting in their Hagerstown, Md., living room. “Days went by, and things kept coming back negative,” she said. “It was great that things were coming back negative, but it wasn’t leaving us with answers.”
Abbey had a trouble-free pregnancy and delivery, but Jonah kept on bleeding after his circumcision. Something was causing a problem with his clotting. His skin tone was a distressing yellow, his blood sugar half what it should have been. And Jonah was lethargic, his heart beating rapidly.
Experts versed in genetics, cardiology, neurology and gastroenterology took turns pondering his case. Then Parvathi Mohan, head of hepatology, visited Jonah in the Children’s Hospital neonatal intensive care unit.
Hepatology is the study of the liver, an organ that has many functions. It processes nutrition from the intestines. It regulates cholesterol. It purifies the body from toxins. It makes proteins for clotting.
There was something about Jonah’s assortment of symptoms that made Mohan remember a talk she had attended a few years earlier by Chicago pediatric liver specialist Peter Whitington.
“I called him,” Mohan told me in a phone interview. “I said: ‘I don’t know if this is a far shot, but this baby’s getting worse. Nothing we’re doing is coming back as positive. Is it possible he could have alloimmune liver disease?’ ”
The human body has the remarkable ability to heal itself. But it also has the remarkable ability to harm itself. For reasons doctors don’t yet fully understand, sometimes during pregnancy, proteins from the baby cross the placenta and go into the mother. The mother’s immune system goes on alert, dispatching antibodies to attack what it sees as invaders. These enter the baby’s blood system, wreaking havoc on the liver. That’s what was going on inside Jonah.
Only a biopsy — using a needle to take a tiny piece of liver — would tell them for sure. But Jonah was too sick for that. Mohan immediately started him on intravenous immunoglobulin, a therapy known as IVIG. A few days later, she gave him another dose of these antibodies, hoping they would flush out the invaders.
And a few days after that . . .
There was a cry from upstairs, and Nick got up to fetch a no-longer-napping Jonah from his bedroom. He’s a towheaded, almost-1-year-old now, and he squirmed to be put down so he could crawl around on the floor and occasionally raise himself to his feet to take some tentative steps. He’s all better, showing no ill effects from 24 days in the hospital.
Mohan has been at Children’s Hospital for 24 years. “I would say this was one of the more dramatic turnarounds that I’ve seen,” she told me.
Jonah’s parents think his time in the hospital affected him. To help ease his sleep, they brought in a plush sheep that played different white-noise sounds.
“We kept it in his room,” said Abbey, manager of Mimi’s Cafe in Frederick. “Every night when we’d leave to go to the Ronald McDonald House, we put the whale sound on. It sounds most like the womb. To this day, if we put the whale on, he’ll either start crying or look like he’s going to start crying. He associates it with being poked with needles.”
Or maybe any Jonah would be wary of the sound of a whale.
The Lees’ insurance covered most of Jonah’s treatment, although the family is still negotiating some charges.
“We’d pay a million dollars,” said Nick, who works for Bank of America. “If it wasn’t for Children’s, we wouldn’t have a son.”
Many parents in our area can say the same thing about Children’s Hospital and their sons and daughters. Although the Lees were fortunate to have insurance, many families don’t. That’s why every year for close to 60 years, readers of The Washington Post have helped support the hospital through our annual fund drive.
We kick off the campaign today, and my hope is that by Jan. 4 we can raise $400,000. All of the donations go to the hospital’s uncompensated care fund. That’s money set aside to help poor families pay their medical bills.
You can make a tax-deductible donation at washingtonpost.
com/childrenshospital. Or send a check (payable to Children’s Hospital) to Washington Post Campaign, P.O. Box 17390, Baltimore, Md. 21297-1390.
To read previous columns, go to washingtonpost.com/johnkelly.