Things for Ireland went from bad to worse to awful to intolerable. She didn't want to eat. She didn't want to play. She just laid against my chest with glazed eyes. Miserable. Her breathing became so labored she could only sleep if she was held upright. Somehow she could still scream like a banshee if we tried to put her in a steamy bath or shower. Brent and I tried to take shifts to get some sleep between us. Finally we said "uncle" and Brent took Ireland to the ER.
She was diagnosed with brochiolitis (aka RSV) and given a small army of prescriptions. After her bout with pneumonia, it's looking more and more like she's inherited my respiratory issues. I teared up when I saw the tiny inhaler they gave her. My childhood memories are filled with being sick with asthma. To this day my dad asks if I'm wearing a coat when it's less than 70 degrees out. Now I understand why. It's not just the ER expense, it's the emotional expense of seeing your little one so miserable.
Sorry Ireland! I so hoped to just pass along blue eyes and a quick wit. I guess the crappy cardiovascular system gene just snuck it's way in there...
2 comments:
Oh that's too bad. It is totally hard to see your little one sick. But she's got the best mama to take care of her for that is concerned
This post made me a little teary eyed. I hope that she grows out of it. If not, she's fortunate to have a great mama bear who knows what it's like. Sometimes having someone to understand can make all the difference!
Post a Comment