NotSheep

I woke up this morning still trying to decide whether to go to the caravan today or wait until Tuesday (Toby has another speech therapy appointment on Monday, so no point in going tomorrow). As it turned out, the universe had plans to take that decision out of my hands.

Jack was a bit off-colour and waily at bedtime last night, but he gets that way when he’s not well - he tends to get miserable for a few hours, sleep for a couple of hours, then wake up bouncy and full of life again. He also tends to breathe quite heavily when he’s ill, but it never lasts long. Today was different. He was normal-sick (for him) in the morning, and I decided to go to Ikea and pick up a few things for the caravan. When I got home at lunchtime though, he’d thrown up and his breathing was very laboured. It was somehow not the same as it usually is when he’s unwell. I decided I was worried enough to take him to Casualty.

He went in pyjamas with a fleece blanket around him, and insisted on being carried in (not an easy task to carry a six-year-old when you’ve a bump the size of mine). When we got into the waiting-room, I sat him on a chair and he promptly threw up on the floor. I talked to the receptionist, who sent us through to triage. They weighed him and took his temperature, then sent us through to a treatment room. The doctor couldn’t hear any breathing sounds in his lungs, but his oxygen levels were pretty good (97%). It was obvious he was working hard to breathe though. Two nebuliser treatments later, they said his lungs were quite rattly. They took blood, put an IV line in the back of his hand, and gave him a dose of intravenous steroids. A chest x-ray was ordered, and he sat with an oxygen mask for the next few hours. Eventually it was decided he should be admitted for observation - just for a few hours, possibly overnight but maybe going home at bedtime. By the time he was taken to the ward though, it was after 6 p.m., so there was no going home tonight. I asked him who he wanted to stay with him - me or Scratchy - he chose Scratchy. To be honest, I was too relieved to be offended - the thought of facing a night in a chair by the bed wasn’t thrilling me or my pelvis.

On the ward he was taken off the oxygen mask but his oxygen levels remained good. Another doctor came and examined him, and he got to see his chest x-ray, which showed quite a lot of trapped air around the edges of his lungs. The doctor said it was probably viral and ordered another nebuliser treatment; by the time that was given it was nearly 8 p.m. After the treatment, I left him on his own for a while so I could drive home and get Scratchy. I took Scratchy to the hospital and came home, glad to get a chance to eat something and lie down.

They said there’d probably be more nebuliser treatments overnight, but it was hoped he wouldn’t need more IV steroids. However Scratchy has texted to say Jack has had oral steroids - I don’t understand why, as that was the whole point of the IV line, and it’s still in place. He’s also been given oral antibiotics - again, I don’t understand why, when they were fairly certain it was viral - and I can’t say I’m pleased, as he’s never had antibiotics before and I’d have preferred to keep it that way if they weren’t actually necessary.

In fact he’s never had any kind of medication before - not so much as a children’s paracetamol. He’s never spent a night in hospital in his life - none of my children has, except for Barney, who spent the first two nights of his life in hospital because I was daft enough to give birth to him in one. I don’t think Jack has ever even been on a hospital ward to visit anybody before. So all this has been a bit of a shock.

I hope he’ll be home tomorrow, but was warned by one of the nurses that it could be a few days. Before he was admitted, I asked if he could come home this evening with a nebuliser, but apparently it’s not possible to arrange a nebuliser on the weekend