I'm going to trip over myself trying to come up with the perfectly heartfelt thank you. This internet thing is a strange and wonderful place. Your sweet comments and emails yesterday brought me to tears.
Yesterday my father in law was desperate to communicate, tracing letters on my mother-in-law's palm. They are best friends, and the best of people, and I cannot imagine how powerless she must have felt, sitting there, deciphering his words as he tried to reach out to her. Last night they took him off the respirator and he was stable and breathing on his own in ICU. I'm sure this was a great relief to her.
Thank you, for all of your thoughts and wishes and prayers. I am so humbled by your generosity and compassion. It means so much. These words seem so little in comparison.
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I highly recommend having a budding baking goddess in your house. My eleven year old made cupcakes on Saturday night. Just for the heck of it.
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And, Fidget's asthma rocked her world again last night.
She awoke at midnight, just after I had calmed down enough to try and sleep. The oral steroid causes her to have dreadful nightmares, so in addition to the coughing, she wakes screaming and thrashing about. I had given her a breathing treatment at 7, so I knew I could give her one now and that would help a little. She presses the mask against her face, knowing it makes breathing easier, squeezing her eyes shut. 'rock, mommy..,' she pleads.
We've tried the tricks in the past and they do not work. The steamy bathroom. Sitting in the cool night air. Vaporizer. Humidifier. Her coughing gets increasingly agitated. We've ended up in the ER too many times already. She always ends up on the steroid. Always. Her doctor just makes sure we have it in the house now, so we can give it to her at the onset, instead of in the ER.
She clings to me, coughing, sweating, her little eyes closed, concentrating on trying to sleep... begging me to 'rock, mommy, rock' in the chair in her room, sucking on the little corner of her blankie and holding the tiny beanie baby bear she got after one of her ER visits in December. She quiets and I think the nebbie has worked, and then the coughing erupts again. Sometimes she gags. She needs to get all that crap out that is building up in her bronchial tubes.
'Just spit it out, Fidge," I whisper.
'No, mommy, nooo!' She cries. And coughs again. I need her to throw up. But she won't. I grab a baby blanket and put it over me just in case she does. She digs her head into my chest and wraps her little arms around my shoulders. She is so tired. We did this last night, too...
We move from bed to bed...upstairs...downstairs...upstairs again... the other room... Finally, she wants to rock in her room again. So we do. When her body cooperates and she finally falls asleep in my arms, I weep. Her sweet little face is framed by blond locks that seem determined to stay short in a pixie cut, her long lashes rest on her soft pink cheeks. Her little body is limp, exhausted from fighting itself, and curled up in my arms. I sit there, still rocking, hoping and praying to God for the strength to rise out of the rocker without waking her, and make the transfer to her crib, where she sleeps best.
And it happened. Somewhere in the early morning, after 4 am... and I crawled back into my own empty bed, my cell phone in hand, should Daddy call with news from the hospital; my ear toward the monitor, should Fidget wake and need comfort; my head, on the pillow; and my heart heavy.
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I'm going to take a break for a few days. We have a lot of things to do and I need to rest...
I hope that you and yours are safe and well and loved. xo