Breathing Again

I've never been so glad to have to tell Evan to slow down as I am this morning. See this sweet boy with the crazy hair:

You would never guess he almost ended up in the pediatric ER yesterday afternoon. I am going to start a running tab on hair color that this boy causes me to buy.

I've been writing all week that Evan has a nasty cold. Yesterday morning, he asked to take a nap, which is really unlike him. When he woke up three hours later, the low-grade fever was back and his breathing was rapid. He wasn't having trouble breathing, but it was fast and I got nervous. I called the doctor, certain she would say, "It's a cold," but she asked me to bring him in so she could check him out.

When I got to the office, our nurse met me at the door and said I didn't need to worry about checking in. Odd. We got to the exam room, and our doctor was waiting with a pulse ox monitor. Panic started to set in. I was prepared for her usual warm smile reminding me kids get colds and my boy was fine. I was not prepared for all of this.

They hooked Evan up, and she started listening to his lungs. The room was so quiet. And this is why I love my doctor, she held my hand and looked me square in the eyes and said, "You are going to over-react when I say this, and that's okay. I think Evan has RSV and if it gets any worse I'm sending you to the pediatric ER." And then she sat quietly and let me cry for a second.

She spent the next hour in that room with us, watching Evan and occasionally listening to his lungs. Telling me in little bits everything I needed to know--little bits my mommy brain could handle. How many doctors do that anymore? We were her last appointment, and she stayed late to be sure he was okay. They did a swab to get an official diagnosis, and she assured me she thought he would be just fine and to keep him on Motrin. You see, for anything but RSV you are supposed to leave a low-grade fever alone--let it do its job. That is exactly what I had been doing. With RSV, the fever complicates the breathing. While we were there, the Motrin kicked in and you could see him start to improve. We were sent home with strict orders to stay on the Motrin, watch him like a hawk, and call her at home if he took a turn and she would meet us in ER.

I left and called my mom, because that's what you really need when your baby is sick--your mom. Within moments, she had offered to fly down, which seemed a bit unnecessary, but then she was on the CDC website reading me exactly what I needed to know. The odds. The symptoms. The worst cases and the best cases. It's how Mom and I roll with medical issues. Screw one step at a time; we need the whole picture. She let me wallow in my mommy guilt for not giving medicine just long enough to verbalize it and then realize 99% of the time it would have been the right call. She validated that he was going to be fine...and so was I. And I will be forever grateful that she always picks up the phone.

This morning, the doctor herself called to tell me it was definitely RSV and to check on him. She also said we should be through the worst. I love this woman. Her daughter is just about Issa's age, and she has seen us through two pregnancies and every ailment of childhood. She is reassuring and honest and the kids love her. She knows medicine is about more than diagnosis and treatment; it's about healing the whole child and the whole family. She knows that mommies need to cry sometimes, and when we over-react she is reassuring rather than condescending. She is never allowed to move--ever. I might follow her.

Evan is happily building blocks; it's the first time he has not been attached to my hip since Sunday. Again, I am so grateful I don't have to deal with any major illnesses in my kids, and my heart goes out to those that do.