Croup, ugh...

*Note -- This is a VERY long post. I found it cathartic to write, but feel free to skim.

So, we've had a hairy seven days to say the least. It started late last Tuesday night. Earlier that night, I went out for a Mother/Daughter dinner and pedicure with Mom and Seana. I'm trying to get out as much as I'd like before I become a mother of two and am tied to an infant again. Scott's been really wonderful watching Eli while I go to Yoga or get out for a few hours in the evening. Anyway, Scott said he didn't notice anything unusual while I was gone, when I got home and took over for the night time routine I noticed he was starting to have that tight, barky cough that seems to mean only one thing -- croup. But, when I put him to bed, I was still hopeful that maybe he would sleep it off. Not so. That night was awful, I don't think he slept more than two hours in a row, and I think I only slept two hours total. I spent most of the night listening to him breathe. He alternated between raspy, gargly, and as the ER nurse said last year "trashy" breathing. It really freaked me out.

I don't think I would have been so concerned, but the last time he had croup we had to hospitalize him. He was ten months old and we were on vacation in the Georgia mountains. We brought him into the ER because of "ordinary" croup symptoms, but most scary he really seemed like he was fighting for each breath. Habersham County Medical Center's ER was not impressed with how he looked and sounded and they kept us that night, and said he had pneumonia. It was a horrific night. They couldn't get an IV in him, but that didn't stop them for trying for hours. Understandably, he was hysterical. We had to hold him down, arms and legs pinned to the bed, while a procession of strangers poked him over and over again. He acted like a wounded, caged animal. I'm fairly surprised Scott and I survived that first hospital visit. Honestly, the staff was wonderful to us, but as we learned from last year's hospital visit to Children's Healthcare of Atlanta, those little hospitals are just not equipped to properly deal with tiny veins or tiny lungs. And, from their assessment last year, he probably didn't have pneumonia, it was probably just Reactive Airway Disease, basically "Pre-Asthma" in young children.

These pictures were taken hours before we headed to Habersham County Medical Center. He was FINE all day long, then woke up from his nap gasping for breath and barking uncontrollably. As, you can tell, he was a well-fed, breast fed baby. The staff at the hospital called him a "Michelin Baby" appreciatively. They said all the extra padding made it even harder to find a vein for the IV. He ended up losing at least a pound from his illness, so I think this was the chubbiest he ever was. On a side note, these pictures were taken by a group of strangers that emailed them to me. Such a sweet favor and gesture. Interestingly, what small world, they owned the gas station in Senoia that I passed by every morning on my way to school.



Then, last year, after a lingering cold in late November, we had to take him into the emergency room (why do these things always seem to happen on the weekends?). This time, thankfully, we were home. So, we got to go to Children's Healthcare of Atlanta -- they are awesome. We took him to the Emergency Room after I had been suspicious about his breathing for a few days. It's always hard for an asthmatic to be objective, so I think I didn't trust my instincts. The final straw came when I was giving him a bath and I noticed that I could see all his ribs as he struggled to get each breath. Very scary. We took him to the Children's Healthcare of Atlanta's ER, and they didn't like the sound of his breathing (as previously stated, she called it "trashy") or his oxygen rating.

These pictures were taken last Thanksgiving -- within 48 hours Eli had been admitted into Children's Healthcare of Atlanta.




We had actually been to the Children's Healthcare of Atlanta's ER one time before for the same kind of thing. Eli was around six months old and had had a cold. Since he was so little, they said if we heard any wheezing we had to take him in immediately. That time, they gave him some respiratory treatments, which he responded to right away. And, that was the first time we heard the term "Reactive Airway." Although, honestly, I didn't really remember the term, or give it much significance until we heard it again last year at Children's Healthcare.

Last year, when we went they kept us for two nights. We spent one relatively sleepless night in the ER (they didn't have a room for us, even though they officially admitted us hours after arriving.) Then, as they had a vacancy we spent a night in a regular room. Last year when we went he didn't respond to any of the breathing treatments until the following morning. It was terrifying. His oxygen monitor kept sounding an alarm because his oxygen level kept dipping below the acceptable level (somewhere in the 80's). I spent several hours sitting perfectly still in a very uncomfortable position with him on my lap in one arm and the breathing treatment apparatus in my other hand pointed at his mouth and nose. He alternated between sleeping and going into hysterics anytime any medical personnel approached him. The only exception was our angel respiratory therapist who had such a soothing effect over him that he was even able to secure the mask for the breathing treatment over his face, something, we haven't ever been able to do since. And, while he was in the room, Eli barely made a squeak. It was amazing, and felt miraculous. After he left the room, Eli quickly turned the corner, and never had scary oxygen numbers again. Scott and I still got tears in our eyes relating the story of our angel nurse months later. And, we realized later that he was the same nurse that treated Eli when he was a few months old. He said that he says a prayer before he goes into a new room, whatever it is, it works.

So, anyway... these stories are why Tuesday night was so harrowing. I sat up most of the night listening for the next breath and watching his chest rise and fall. In the morning, he sounded even worse, something I didn't think was possible. While I waited for the pediatrician's office to open I pumped as much Albuterol inhaler into him as I could, and sat him with me in the bathroom while I ran a hot shower. Nothing seemed to make a dent in it, except the Albuterol made him shaky. Giving him the inhaler and having him sit with me in the bathroom were their own mini battles. He was acting like a scared caged animal again. He actually ran away from me and hid in his room when I turned on the shower. I don't know what he thought I was going to do to him. But, needless to say, his lungs were in no shape to support running or crying, but his caged animal impulse were making him do both. Finally, the pediatrician opened, and I made us an immediate appointment. But, then, the next exhausting task was getting him dressed with him knowing we were going to the doctor. Before Wednesday morning, and since we had had our horrible hospital visits, going to the doctor has been awful. He screams and cries the second we leave the waiting room and doesn't stop until we are leaving. So, while I was getting our shoes on we were both crying, me from exhaustion and trepidation, and him from everything. Luckily, I don't think he saw me cry, I was sneaky, besides, I don't think it would have registered for him anyway.

There is a happy ending to this story. When we arrived at the doctor, he only cried a little for the nurse and didn't cry AT ALL for the doctor. The worst news at the doctor was that his oxygen rating was only 91%, the nurse even made a face at that. But, the best news, was it wasn't in his lungs, at all. The doctor just said that he had such a bad case of croup, and his throat had swelled so much that it was restricting his airway and causing the low reading. She gave us a prescription for steroids, because the croup was so bad. She told me to keep the house as cold as I could stand (we left the windows open all day) and told me to get saline solution for our nebulizer (oh no, the dreaded breathing treatments). She did seem concerned and told us to come back the next day for a follow up, told me to call without hesitation at any point during the day, and if it went to his lungs during the night not to hesitate to go to the Emergency Room. But, it was amazing, we did the nebulizer about four times before his nap, kept the house really cold, and started the steroids immediately. I noticed a huge improvement by the time he woke up from his nap, thank God! Scott said he sounded horrible when he got home, but it was such an improvement over the morning that I thought he sounded great.

I survived the day once again through the love and support of family. Diane coincidentally showed up at our house when we were coming home from the doctor that morning. It was great timing, because I needed some support and that way I could leave the sicky at home with her and go pick up his prescription and the saline for the nebulizer. By the time I got home, I could tell she was very concerned about him, after all he did sound awful, but I was so relieved that the doctor had said it wasn't in his lungs, that I was feeling almost calm. We figured the nebulizer out together, I don't think I would have been very capable doing it alone, with how exhausted and fried I felt. And, we unsucessfully tried to give him the nebulizer the "right" way, strapping (or holding) the mask to his face or putting the other attachment in his mouth. I realized that she had never seen him this bad, and she had never seen his "caged animal." We both had tears in our eyes as we tried to strap the mask to his face while he had wide eyes, screamed uncontrollably, arching his back and bucking against us. I settled on holding the mask as close to his face as possible. I figured some warm mist was better than none. And, it did seem to do the trick. Not only did Diane stay and help me for several hours until nap time, she also brought us dinner which was much appreciated. Then, Scott came right home after school and took care of Eli so I could relax, eat, take a bath and take a much needed long nap. Between Scott and Diane, I was feeling almost human by night time.

These pictures were taken on Wednesday night, we both look pretty fried. Notice Eli trying to block his nose and mouth from the mist. This is not the proper use of a nebulizer, it was the best we could do, and it did seem to help.




Thursday morning, he was so much better, the barky cough was all but gone. When he went to the doctor he didn't cry AT ALL! And, his oxygen was back up to 100%. I was feeling so optimistic that I asked the doctor whether we could go to playgroup on Friday morning. Of course, she advised against it. So, unfortunately, we missed our first MOMS playgroup. I finally joined after over a year of considering it. Oh well, there's always next week.

The weekend was hairy, he has been uncharacteristically grumpy and BAD. I realized what a good, well-behaved toddler he usually is. I rarely have to discipline him and he usualy listens to my first warning. If he doesn't then I threaten or have to take away a priviledge. But, it's rarely a big deal, and I save official "time outs" in his room for blatant disregard or disrespect which usually only happens once every two weeks or so. Having to actually take away a priviledge (even temporarily) only occurs once every other day or less. But, since last Wednesday, I've had to discipline him up to 5 times per day. It's crazy and draining. And, since he's not feeling well, he wants nothing to do with anyone but me. I was hoping that the weekend would give me a much needed break, but Eli didn't want Daddy to do much with him at all. Oh well.

Fortunately, Monday and Tuesday were much better. He still has a yucky, wet cough and a runny nose. But, the nose seems to be slowing down, not a constant faucet anymore. And, Monday was his last dose of steroids. So, fortunately his behavior has almost returned to normal. Last night, while I was making dinner he actually wanted to play with Dadddy and NOT me. Thank God, I think he's nearly back to normal, after seven difficult days.