Yesterday my daughter (the one in my picture, but older now) started sneezing—a lot. Allergy season in this part of the country is brutal. We keep a box of kleenex on every flat surface in the house. But this morning she started coughing, and had a low-grade fever, so we knew she was sick, not just allergic. My wife stayed home with her while I represented us at our family’s Passover Seder. When I got home, she was still coughing—a lot. I grabbed a stethoscope and listened to her chest. It wasn’t perfectly clear, but she was coughing and crying so it was hard to hear (also, I’m not a pediatrician). I stepped back for a minute and looked at her. She was miserable. She was using her neck and chest muscles to help her breathe, and her stomach was moving in and out in what’s called a paradoxical pattern. She was clearly not doing well. We grabbed a few things and jumped in the car, heading for my hospital.
When we got there, she was really struggling. Thankfully, lots of people I knew were working, and we got plugged in pretty fast. After a breathing treatment, she was a little more cheerful, but still breathing about 40 times per minute.
Any parent knows what it’s like to see your child ill. When I look at her as a patient, I can see how sick she really is, but I try to keep a calm demeanor for her and for my wife—inside I’m screaming, tearing at my clothing, shaking. Her oxygen saturation is in the high 80s to low 90s, but she’s improved since we came in. My wife sends me home to get some rest (like hell!), and the plan is for me to pick them both up in the morning when I come in to round—assuming the little one is well enough.
I feel horrible leaving them there without me, but one of my residents is taking care of them and I know he’ll call me if anything is going on. Still, it’s laughable to think I can just come home and sleep.
It turns out she has respiratory syncytial virus (RSV), a nasty little respiratory virus that makes little ones miserable. Unfortunately, there is no vaccine for this one. We’re stuck with chance, and I don’t like chance very much tonight. In fact, I don’t like anything very much tonight except my daughter and her big, brown eyes that shine when she laughs, which is most of the time. When she coughs so hard that she can’t speak, I want to vomit.
But instead, I’m sitting at home next to the phone, typing, and hoping and waiting.
Addendum:
So, as soon as I settled in at home, I got called back to the hospital. She’s doing a little better, but not well enough to go home. More later.
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