Holiday Hospital Tour '07

We made it through Christmas Day, but just barely. After a long day of faking his way thorugh presents and naps and coughing and gagging, at 6 o'clock last night we finally decided that Lucas should probably go to the E/R at Children's Hospital. The Toddler was wearing his "Trouble is My Middle Name" jammies and a black stocking cap when Ron wrapped him in his new Lightning McQueen blanket and carried him down to the car. The kid didn't even flinch. He had been on the couch with us for half an hour trying to stop coughing, trying to get a decent breath. We had tried all the usual suspects: cool air, steam, warm juice. But nothing worked. I had read that croup allegedly peaks between days 2 and 3, and here we were at the end of day 5 with no real improvement, and over a long holiday weekend, no less, when going to the pediatrician hadn't even been an option. He was diagnosed via the Nurseline.

So they went. And I stayed here with Alex, who was sleeping, waiting for word. And I waited. And I felt very alone. Even though I knew it was probably only croup, this is the first time we have had to deal with serious coughs or truly high fevers, and I was exhausted. And once I sat down in the quiet I was overwhelmed by our living room full of toys that weren't being played with. It was just so quiet in the house. I knew Alex needed his sleep, but it took all I had not to go wake him up just so I would have company, so there would be kid noise again. The peace and quiet was unnerving.
Eventually, I got ahold of a couple of friends by phone, the kind of friends who double (when necessary) as interventionists just long enough to talk you off the ledge du jour. Because on Christmas night, when your first born is on his way to the hospital without you, and your other baby is sleeping in another room, and you are 21 weeks pregnant...well, like I said, it's lonely and it's overwhelming and it's too, too quiet.

This morning, though, at first, Lucas looks better. He should, considering he's been hooked up to Albuterol and has a steroid to boot. For awhile he is on the floor in the next room happily playing with his new Lego trains. And then he starts to fade again. And it's time for more of the oral steroid, which he immediately throws up all over himself, my husband, and the surrounding area. Then after a quick bath, it's time for a breathing treatment--ten minutes of whimpering inside his clear plastic facemask with purple dragon details. As he cries, the steam puffs out through "nostrils" on either side of the mask. My sad, unwilling little dragon.

As for me, I will be taking down the Christmas tree and decorations today. I know this should probably end with a neatly drawn vignette about rediscovering the true meaning of Christmas, about remembering what's truly important in life. And yes, while there's some of that involved, there is also a great deal of disappointment. Three years in a row. But I'm trying to let it go. What can you do but let it go?