Saturday night at 3 a.m., I was in the Vanderbilt Children's Hospital emergency room listening to Joe struggle for breath. The rapid, shallow breathing started up about supper time, and in spite of Vick's rub and some time spent in the steamy bathroom, it hadn't improved.
After a half dozen people poked and prodded Joe as he screamed and clung to me, we were allowed to go back home with the diagnosis of mild pneumonia and brochial spasms.
I don't deal with medical problems very well. They make me angry. How dare something mess with my child's body and leave me powerless.
1 comment:
oh man! scary scary stuff... i'm with you that it just makes me angry when i can't help our little man... i hate that feeling. i get that feeling just reading about your trip to the E.R. Grrr.
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