This is one of those moments that anyone who has ever had to leave their children with someone else experiences. The moment when you suspect that something isn't right.
The events of the day have left me painfully aware of the fragility of life. I try not to panic as I wait for Hubby to get off the phone.
He hangs up and relays the message from my Father-in-Law.
The Boy threw up three times this morning. He also said that he's a bit congested.
He's done this before. The Boy, having been blessed with my post-nasal drip, typically awakes with an upset tummy at the first onset of a cold.
My Dad says he's been fine since this morning.
We chalk it up as no big deal. We've been down this road many times before so there is nothing to worry about.
We have another hour left to our drive before we are Home.
The Boy and Cinderella spent the night at my in-law's so Hubby and I could attend a sudden-but-not-completely-unexpected-funeral.
They were both looking forward to a sleepover at Grandma's and Grandpa's.
As we get closer to Home, Hubby decides to drop me off so I can take care of The Mouse.
He returns an hour later.
The Boy fell asleep during the 20 minute car ride Home and has to be woken up to come inside.
He's still tired and irritable. I attribute his irritabiliy and lethargy to his presumed cold and from the excitement of the sleepover.
The Boy goes to lay down in his room and falls asleep again.
The next two hours he is restless. He wakes up each hour crying.
Hubby tends to him. Brings him water. Each time snuggles with him until he falls back asleep.
The Boy is crying again.
It's your turn.
Hubby is spending some time with Cinderella so I go to check on our Son.
Mommy can you snuggle with me?
His voice is weak.
I cozy up next to him and within moments he is back asleep.
It's then that I realize something is wrong. His breathing isn't right. The muscles in his neck and abdomen strain with each breath.
I call Hubby upstairs. He chalks it up to The Boy's nose being congested. But I
A Mommy always knows.
We call His pediatrician. We call my in-laws. We talk to Cinderella to find out more details about the onset of this cold.
He started coughing last night when he went to bed.
Cinderella tells us that they had slept in a room that was until recently occupied by Hubby's younger sister. A room that housed her and her pet rabbits. One of the rabbits was still in the room.
We remembered one year ago when The Boy had been playing with his Aunt's rabbit and then suddenly started coughing and rubbing his eyes.
We suspected there might have been a sensitivity brewing. Now we were certain of it.
When his pediatrician called back I described his symptoms and our theory on the rabbit.
Does he have a history of asthma?
Can you count his respirations while he is asleep?
(We counted 30 in one minute. )
That's a bit high. I am going to send you to the Emergency Room so he can get some help with his breathing. Tell them I believe he is having an Asthmatic Response brought on by an Allergy.
An Asthmatic Response?!?!
Brought on by an Allergy?!?!
A minor meltdown and a couple of "How can this be's" later we decide that Hubby will take Him to the E.R.
We don't know how long this could take and I need to stay Home in case The Mouse wakes up for a feeding.
I stand helpless as my Husband carries my sleeping Boy downstairs. I kiss him softly as he is brought to Hubby's car unaware of where he is going or what is happening.
Cinderella emerges from the family room and is visibly upset.
I stifle my tears to downplay the panic I am feeling over seeing my 4 year old being whisked away to an Emergency Room because of a stupid rabbit.
Will The Boy be ok?
Oh sure, Babe. The doctors will give him some medicine to make him feel better and he'll be home in a little bit. Why don't you head upstairs to bed now. It's getting late.
I kiss her goodnight all-the-while fighting back the tears and my panic.
I call my Mother.
I call my Neighbor.
I ramble to them aimlessley as I desperately try to pass the time and not think about how my Son is no doubt at the E.R. by now and is probably terrified and crying and screaming for Me and refusing treatment because he is so scared.
Forty five minutes later the phone rings.
Hubby tells me everything is fine and they are on their way home. The docs agreed with the Pediatricain's assessment and gave The Boy a nebulizer treatment and some oral medication to help his breathing.
When they arrived home five minutes later it was like nothing had ever happened.
Any possible fear or trauma from his experience at the Emergency Room was wiped away from the steroid treatment leaving us with a LOOPY four year old.
The Boy came into the house as if returning from a birthday party on a sugar-induced high complete with a GOODY bag.
(Since when do hospitals give out goody bags?)
I sat and watched as my over-stimulated Son described his experience with absolute glee ...
I had to breathe in blue smoke Mommy.
Daddy and I pretended it was a dragon!
And Mommy? They gave me medicine and I did NOT like that.
See? I spilled some of it on my shirt!
I do NOT like medicine Mommy!
And LOOK Mommy! I got crayons and toys and paper to draw on. See Mommy?
He spoke and walked in circles.
(Holy shit steroids are fun!)
After we tucked him in bed, I decided that if we encase him in a bubble and keep me heavily medicated all will be fine from here-on-out.