Tate and I spent a fun-filled Saturday morning at the urgent care clinic down the street. I personally propose a name change to "we'll get to you when we get to you whether the people in front of you are as sick as your kid or not" clinic, but that name probably wouldn't have fit as well on the check I wrote for our copay.
Poor little fella. It was breathing problems again...the third time since July. Our medical visits have gotten progressively less extreme each time.
First visit: hospitalized for 2 nights.
Second visit: middle of the night visit to the E.R.
Third visit: Saturday morning walk-in clinic.
By the time our fourth visit comes around, I will probably just take him down to the corner and bum some narcotics from a drug dealer.
Same old story. Croupy cough, shortness of breath, etc. Gasping for breath is more like it. David stayed up with him until 2am this morning on the couch, then decided to try the steam shower. I sat with Tate in the darkened bathroom for a bit, then headed back downstairs. I changed his diaper and he just laid still on the floor. Which was another telltale sign he wasn't feeling well. After I got him changed, I grabbed a cozy blanket, covered us both up, and laid down facing him, prepared to catch a few winks, even if it meant snoozing on the living room floor. That stinker looked over at me, squeezed his eyes shut and grinned from ear to ear. That is his new way to smile. I must get it on camera one of these days.
His eyes popped back open and he scurried out of our coziness, but wasn't quite sure what to do next in the dark living room. His breathing was still very labored, and I remembered the doctor said to take him outside the last time. So there I was, a huge blanket wrapped around me and my boy, standing on our front porch at 3am. We stood there for a bit and his breathing calmed down.
I tiptoed back in, laid him in his crib, and crawled back into bed. David was still awake so I explained to him that the cool night air helps breathing problems. "Ummmm....why didn't you tell me that trick?" he asked groggily.
This morning we headed up to the clinic, which opened at 9am. Apparently. although they don't start seeing patients until 9am, everyone knows to get there earlier and sign in. So we walked into a waiting room with a handful of folks already there! At first he was shy and just sat on my lap and watched cartoons. Then he scrambled down and inspected each and every other person in the room. I'm sure he was a bit confused why all these people with glazed expressions were not in the mood to play peek-a-boo with an 18 month old.
I was actually kind of glad he slid off my lap and started running through the waiting area. When he had been sitting peacefully, his breathing seemed ok. I didn't want to walk into the exam room and have them look at me like I was crazy. But all his activity had him breathing like an 80 year old man chain smoker with emphysema in no time flat. It was kind of like when you take your car to the shop and beg for it to make that same odd noise for them.
Anyway, to wrap up, I really liked the doctor who saw him. She was the easiest doctor we've ever had to talk to. She didn't make me feel dumb for asking all my dumb questions. She said she has a child exactly like Tate at home, with the same chronic symptoms he has. She almost wrote me a script for a breathing machine to keep at the house, but when she listened to his lungs, she said the wheezes weren't coming from them, they were coming more from his airway. She said she still gives her child the breathing treatments from time to time, even though she knows it's not having that big of an effect, she does it simply because it makes her feel better and feel like she's doing something to help his breathing. I thought that was awesome...very motherly of her.
We opted for the oral steroid instead, and after she assured me it wouldn't make him grow baby muscles or facial hair, we were on our way.
I sure hope he doesn't get this ailment when he's a major league baseball player someday...