Mi Vida Loca

I'm considering getting "Mi Vida Loca" tattooed across my knuckles due to our crazy day yesterday: it was the second time Boo Boo and I wound up in an emergency room in two weeks.

It all started on Wednesday night, when Boo Boo sat on my lap and I could feel his body emanating heat. His temp was 103.6 (it was a little terrifying to see that number on a thermometer) and we called the doctor's after-hour line. A nurse told us to give him Tylenol and watch him; the fever went down, but a cough began. We nebbed him, as usual. He awoke me in the night, coughing. Again.

Thursday morning, he didn't have a fever, but by 10am his cough was persistent, deep and disturbing for me to listen to. I called his doctor to make him an appointment, and he couldn't get in until after 3pm. It seemed like an eternity to me to sit around and watch him get sicker and sicker. After lunch (which he hardly ate -- not at all like himself!), I tried to put him down for his nap. But his kept hacking, his coughs racking his little body and making his eyes tear. He also had another fever of 103 and looked sicker than I'd ever seen him. I'd had enough at that point. I called the doctor again and pleaded for him to be seen; they were booked. I asked where the nearest urgent care was, and decided the $100 copay was worth it if Boo Boo could be helped sooner.

I bundled Boo Boo out the door (Praise God that Kim could stay home with X-Man) and drove to the urgent care. But as soon as we hit the waiting room, BB had perked up and was acting fine. I was bewildered. The receptionist told me that we were in a full-service emergency room -- NOT an urgent care, as I had been told -- and I'd have to decide whether he was sick enough to warrant emergency care. Of course, by that point, he wasn't. I thanked her for her candor and went back home.

In the meantime, my sister called me with the sad news that my dear 94-year-old grandma has fallen and broken her ankle in two places -- this after breaking a hip two summers ago. It was heart-wrenching to imagine her in pain, having surgery and facing a long recuperation.


Finally, 3pm rolled around and Boo Boo and I set off for the doctor's office. We had to go to a new guy, and I didn't like him from the start. He was a condescending white-hair type who made it clear that he thought I was a little crazy. (I was, of course, but his attitude was the last thing I needed!) He asked me to lay BB down and hold his wrists to the table. I thought he was going to do something extraordinary to him, as I've only been asked to do this when they've had to draw blood or give a shot. But the guy was just CHECKING HIS EARS! Of course, BB went ballistic when pinned down, as any sick -- or well -- child would. Before I got over the shock of what was happening, it was over. But I was quite angry with the doctor. Was that really necessary? Couldn't he have pretended to look for bunny rabbits in his ears like everyone else? Had he been tormenting children like this for decades, and no one had ever told him it wasn't standard operating procedure to pin children to exam tables like they were animals? Good grief!


The doctor concluded that BB had an ear infection, and was suffering from an acute asthma attack. I said I had a hard time believing an ear infection would give a kid a temp of 103, and asked if BB might have pneumonia or bronchitis. The doc said BB's lungs sounded clear, and reluctantly said we could do a chest x-ray if we wanted to double check; he'd send a nurse in to set it up. A few minutes later she came in, and directed us to a hospital at which we'd have to go through the emergency room for an x-ray. Well, that was the last thing I was willing to do by that time, so we left the office and went home with a stack of prescriptions.

Boo Boo fell asleep on the short ride home, then had some dinner when he awoke. I left the boys with Kim while I went to Wal-Mart to pick up the prescriptions and a few other things. The very kind woman at the pharmacy collected the bags of prescriptions and rang them up. Then she took a good look at me and stopped. "Are you OK?" she asked, with genuine concern. I stopped too, and thought for a moment. "No. I'm not OK. It's been a really long day." And to her surprise and mine, I started to cry.


I cried because I was sick of having a sick child. I cried because he might be chained to a nebulizer and dependent on medicine so he can breathe for the foreseeable future. I cried because every time he laughed, or played or ran too much -- anytime he actually had fun -- he coughed uncontrollably. And I cried because there is so little I can do to help him.

I know it could be worse, much worse. Our last ER visit to Children's Hospital in St. Paul a few days before Christmas was a poignant reminder of that. We were blessed enough to go home that day, unlike many other, much sicker children.

Later that night, after I put X-Man to bed, Boo Boo was waiting for me in the dark of his room to say goodnight. I went in, snuggled him, and prayed with him. I asked Jesus to heal him, and help him, and help us understand God's will for him in his sickness. It's the one thing I can do for Boo Boo. I can pray. Only God can take care of everything else.