Scary Stuff.

We had a little scare last night.

At midnight I was getting ready for bed when our 3 year old stumbled into the hallway coughing like his lungs were about to turn inside out. We had noticed earlier that night that he was developing a cough, but this clearly was worse than our initial impression of his malady.

We sat him down in the livingroom and I handed him a towel to keep in his lap because he started vomiting a little. Joe stepped into the kitchen to get some cough syrup and I headed for the phone book to call the doctor. While I was looking for the number, however, I couldn't bring my eyes from his little chest. It was concaving and his breathing was loud and laborious. When Joe came back into the room I said, "look at his chest!" At first he didn't see it, but when he realized what was happening, he looked at me and said, "Hospital".

Joe helped me dress him and he took our little one outside to get some wet, cold air into his lungs. In the meanwhile, I grabbed a pair of jeans, a shirt, and slipped on my tennis shoes. No time for a jacket. I ran out the door with my purse and loaded him into his booster seat in the back of our Blazer. Joe stayed home to take care of our other two boys.

When we arrived at the hospital he still wasn't breathing right. His face was red from coughing and the nurses sent us back immediately, thinking he was having an asthma attack. I layed him on the ER bed and took off his jacket while they checked his oxygen level (which turned out to be normal). Then they sat and watched him breathe for about 5 minutes to figure out what was going on. After checking his chest and listening to his throat they determined that he had Croup, a common ailment for a child his age, and proceeded to give him a breathing treatment. I felt so bad for him, especially when they arrived to give him a steroid shot.

I held his hand as he was getting his treatment and when they were done his breathing was much quieter and his face finally returned to it's normal hue. I hugged him and heard myself saying over and over again, "I'm sorry". Maybe he said it because he was tired of hearing me repeat myself, but I heard him say, "It's okay. It's not your fault". I sobered up quickly. What three year old has ever said that?? lol.

Now that his breathing was under control we were both able to relax and started talking about interesting things that we saw and heard at the hospital. It was almost fun.

I called Joe to tell him our little boy was okay and a half-hour later we arrived home. Joe was waiting outside for us and we all went inside and crawled into bed. The rest of the evening went without event and we were able to get some sleep. Finally.

Oh, but what a night...