The picture of my daughter from the Pediatricians office
So if you want to get technical about it, our first trip with Emma to the emergency room was the day she was born. But that was a trip we took for a good reason and neither of us were fearful about what the outcome would be. This time however, was worrying and it was especially hard being that it was our first time when she’s been sick.
Now don’t get me wrong, she’s already had 3 or 4 colds at this point, but this past week was different. Starting on Monday night we noticed she was a bit congested so we tried sucking out as much as possible (like one does) and it seemed to help a little bit. The next day, her temp went up to 100.2 and she had more snot in her head than there is water in the ocean and that night is when the coughing started. Violent, heaving, gurgling coughs. I knew in my head that she was just sick, and that it would pass whether we went to the doctor or not, but the fear had kicked in. Fear for my little girl and the pain she might be experiencing. I’ve been ill before, I’ve coughed like that, and its enough to bring a grown man to his knees sometimes. I could tell she was feeling it, if not by just listening to her cough, then by the look on her face.
So Wednesday she went to the doctor, diagnosis: just a bit of congestion and coughing that should pass in a couple of days. No wheezing was heard in her chest, so just keep an eye on it and everything will be fine. Thursday came and went and by the end of it, you could hear the wheezing just by listening to her breath. I pressed my ear against her back anyway, her tiny little body just about the size of my head, and heard nothing but wheezing and gurgling and a strained flow of air. It was one of the worst fears we’ve had so far. Because all the while her temperature had not dropped, her cough got worse, and no matter how much snot we sucked out of that little girls head, it came back threefold.
The amount of mucous reminds me of a story, about the Norse God Thor (I think) where he was challenged to a drinking contest. But Loki had tricked him by attaching the point of the horn he was drinking out of to the ocean. Drank all he might, Thor could not empty the horn for it was constantly filled by the ocean, and slowly he began to drown (don’t worry, our hero made it out of this one).
Thus came Friday, and we got an emergency appointment with the doctor, we had all been up just about all night. I was tired, and looking for answers. I knew the whole time that this would get fixed, but there’s always that doubt in the back of your mind. All the stories I’ve ever read about miss-diagnoses leading to bigger trouble and whatnot. We went in and sat in the “sick waiting” room, and my little girl looked up at me from her car seat.
Her eyelids were red and a little puffy, and her little nose was red as well including the scratch across the top of it she had given herself the day before. Her skin seemed more pale than usual and her eyes were nearly in constant tears, whether she was crying or not. Through the silence I could hear the little wheeze from down by my feet. I thought of my mother, who always used to say that if she could she’d be with me 24/7 whenever I’d leave the house, shotgun in hand to protect me from all the bad things in the world. I always thought it was cute when she said it, but now I know. Now I know what it was really about.
Like my mother, I wouldn’t really do it though. As I said in my last post, my daughter needs to get sick, and to make mistakes and whatnot. That way she is better prepared for the future. Just gotta get through the hard stuff now, so we can be better later. Well, it’s the hard stuff now, and the picture I had taken with my phone in that moment and sent to my wife has the perfect face to show how hard it is.
We went in to see the doctor and he confirmed my suspicions, she had started to wheeze. In fine Mullen tradition (we are all asthmatics) we were given a nebulizer breathing treatment machine along with some daily contacts to take home. Treatments every 4-6 hours, and baby Tylenol for the fever. I was somewhat satisfied, but I had my suspicions there should have been more. Later that night, after a few treatments, it seemed her cough was getting worse. Her last nap was right before the doctors, around 2pm. It’s now 12:45 am the next day, and I have never seen a more exhausted face on another human being, even a little one. The wheezing sounded better with the treatments, but the cough and ultra-congestion was still there, seeming to be slowly drowning her.
We made the call. To the E.R. we go, we’re not gonna let this go on any more, hoping for the best. We were patient, but it’s time to really do something about this. With the skill and effectiveness of a Navy Seal operation (my call sign was Goose) we packed the bag, breathing treatment, and Emma. From the time we started packing to the time we pulled out of the driveway was 20 minutes tops. We talked out the route as we pulled off our street, and made it to the hospital in less than 10 minutes, my wife was driving.
She dropped us off at the E.R. door, I went right in and said “my little girl can’t breath” and in true “Emergency Room” fashion, the lady behind the counter said “fill out this paperwork”. I didn’t care if they couldn’t read it, I didn’t waste any time with neatness. Every word looked generally the way it should, her name was spelled out clearly. Two minutes later the triage nurse came out, just as my wife was coming in with the bags, and we hustled into his office.
Fifteen minutes later was one of the hardest, and best things we’ve had to do to our child. I held her legs, my wife held her arms, and a nurse held her head, while another nurse put a tube down her nose and throat and sucked out all the nastiness. It was a pain to watch, but she was instantly better. Congestion came back, but not as harsh as before. She still coughed, but after another breathing treatment she sounded almost 100% better.
Two hours later the doctor chats us up, her x-rays came back and it looks like a little bit of pneumonia. He referred us to a pediatric otolaryngology center as he noticed that there was something in her nose that made so much mucous build up. We get the meds, we pay the bill, we go home, and our daughter is giggling like crazy, smiling at us almost non-stop. Both my ladies finally fall asleep, it’s around 3:30am. Good show for our first time dealing with a real illness, couldn’t have gone any smoother if we tried, and I never want to do it again. We’ll have to someday, that’s just a fact. Our daughter will not live in a bubble, and it may even be a worse situation some day, and on that day we’ll do whatever it takes. Callsign: Goose.
-B.K. Mullen
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