Today, for the first time ever, I got called to school to pick up Max because of an asthma attack. Usually all he needs to deal with his asthma is his rescue inhaler, but today it just wasn't cutting it. He sat there, wheezing and coughing, while the school administrator stood behind him and mouthed to me, "Take him to the doctor. NOW."
She used to be a ER nurse. It's not what I wanted to hear from her.
So of course, I trundled him directly to the doctor, where we waited for one zillion minutes for all the things to happen that needed to happen to get him to what he really needed, a breathing treatment. While he sat and wheezed in the misty air that relaxed his lungs, he texted my mom, "Hi, Amma. It's Max. One minute I'm at school, the next I'm in the doctor's office, with an oxygen mask on."
Sorry, Mom. And here you thought my days of giving you heart attacks were over, eh?
While Max breathed and slowly unknotted and stopped coughing, I wrestled with Sophia. Just a thought: wouldn't you expect a pediatrician's office to be baby-proofed? I mean, you're GOING to have toddlers in there, am I right? So why, exactly, would you put the computer tower, with its happy glowy power button, UNDER the desk, right at maniacally busy eye level? Why? Is it a little joke? And hello, *I* have latches on doors that shouldn't be opened by small hands. I knew allll about that, see, because YOU PEOPLE gave me a handout on the importance of baby-proofing. HAVE YOU READ YOUR HANDOUT?
Nonetheless, once Max was done with the treatment, he resumed a normal sort of breathing. We were sent on our way with a shrug for an explanation. I argued with the doctor for a few minutes, irrationally wanting him to TELL me what HAPPENED, or at least to admit that he didn't know.
I don't know what gets into me sometimes.
At least I gave up on that quickly enough and I took my easy-breathing-boy and my fiercely-busy-girl, and I went home.
I don't know what happened today, to make Max's lungs so tight. I don't know how much danger he was actually in (Mama circuits are overloaded quickly by the warning BABY CAN'T BREATHE. It makes it hard to process rationally, yaknow?), or how likely he is to have similar problems in the future.
I just know that I'm grateful for medicine that works, and I'm praying he won't ever need it again.