My sleepless night
Last night I was on the phone with
fandoria and bragging away about how I haven't had to use any of my youngest son's asthma meds all winter. We discussed that her son was doing well in this department too. After we got off the phone I read some more in my research books for my new WIP (spooky ghost and paranormal legends and stories) and then I crawled in bed at around 11:30.
Somewhere close to midnight I was finally drifting off when I heard the strangest ghostly type howling, low, distant--almost a moan. Look now, I'll be honest, I almost wet my pants. I tried to tell myself I didn't hear it and sat up cocking my head to the side. Nothing. No moans, no chains clinking, no evil little giggles. Just silence. I lay down and tried to go to sleep. But this spooky cry sounded again...and again. My husband was finishing up his round of nights, so it was just little ole me there. Yeah. See if I use spooky research as my bedtime stories again.
I finally got up and cracked my door a hair. I heard the sound again coming from down the hall, only this time I knew what it was. Something I hadn't heard in almost four years--not since my then four month old son was rushed to Le Bonheur Children's Hospital in Memphis. My mind then registered this was a very very bad asthma attack. So bad in fact that the only noise he was able to make was from the left over push to get the oxygen into and out of his lungs. In between this was that awful, scraping inhale, exhale. Don't think I didn't run. I made it to his room to find him sitting up in the middle of his bed, trying his best to cry, but lacking the oxygen to get it out.
God did I panic! I snatched him up, but couldn't remember where his nebulizer was--or the meds! I did have the presence of mind to plop him on the bathroom floor and turn on the hot water. I then shut the door behind me and tore through the house, looking for his medicine and breathing machine. Which were right where they always are--nebulizer in the living room cabinet, albuterol in the kitchen cabinet.
I spent the next thirty minutes rocking him, holding his face mask, and checking his fingertips every few seconds then lifting the blanket to make sure his stomach was rising and falling with his breaths normally. It took a lot of work to get this attack under control and I thought for sure we were headed toward the ER for an eppy treatment. It eased though. After I put him in bed beside me, and though his breathing was better, it was still rattling--which is good since we'd broken some of it up. But then on the next breath, nothing sounded. I panicked again. But he was fine. He'd just happened to get a good clean breath. So my night was spent listening to his rattled breaths, worried they were getting bad again and then scared he'd stopped breathing when he didn't rattle.
Today has been pretty good. He's coughing off and on, but it's a loose cough, so he's recovering well. And yes, we are back on our Pulmicort.
fandoria and bragging away about how I haven't had to use any of my youngest son's asthma meds all winter. We discussed that her son was doing well in this department too. After we got off the phone I read some more in my research books for my new WIP (spooky ghost and paranormal legends and stories) and then I crawled in bed at around 11:30.
Somewhere close to midnight I was finally drifting off when I heard the strangest ghostly type howling, low, distant--almost a moan. Look now, I'll be honest, I almost wet my pants. I tried to tell myself I didn't hear it and sat up cocking my head to the side. Nothing. No moans, no chains clinking, no evil little giggles. Just silence. I lay down and tried to go to sleep. But this spooky cry sounded again...and again. My husband was finishing up his round of nights, so it was just little ole me there. Yeah. See if I use spooky research as my bedtime stories again.
I finally got up and cracked my door a hair. I heard the sound again coming from down the hall, only this time I knew what it was. Something I hadn't heard in almost four years--not since my then four month old son was rushed to Le Bonheur Children's Hospital in Memphis. My mind then registered this was a very very bad asthma attack. So bad in fact that the only noise he was able to make was from the left over push to get the oxygen into and out of his lungs. In between this was that awful, scraping inhale, exhale. Don't think I didn't run. I made it to his room to find him sitting up in the middle of his bed, trying his best to cry, but lacking the oxygen to get it out.
God did I panic! I snatched him up, but couldn't remember where his nebulizer was--or the meds! I did have the presence of mind to plop him on the bathroom floor and turn on the hot water. I then shut the door behind me and tore through the house, looking for his medicine and breathing machine. Which were right where they always are--nebulizer in the living room cabinet, albuterol in the kitchen cabinet.
I spent the next thirty minutes rocking him, holding his face mask, and checking his fingertips every few seconds then lifting the blanket to make sure his stomach was rising and falling with his breaths normally. It took a lot of work to get this attack under control and I thought for sure we were headed toward the ER for an eppy treatment. It eased though. After I put him in bed beside me, and though his breathing was better, it was still rattling--which is good since we'd broken some of it up. But then on the next breath, nothing sounded. I panicked again. But he was fine. He'd just happened to get a good clean breath. So my night was spent listening to his rattled breaths, worried they were getting bad again and then scared he'd stopped breathing when he didn't rattle.
Today has been pretty good. He's coughing off and on, but it's a loose cough, so he's recovering well. And yes, we are back on our Pulmicort.