Score one for the Mommy Instinct.

Last night, we all collapsed in bed, exhausted from a busy day – Emily had her birthday party with a few friends here and here, a good time had by all, much rejoicing – and no one was sick.  Well, Miss Emily complained of a sore belly, but several desserts per day and even more energy than usual will do that.

It was a bit of a shock, then, to be awakened by a wheezy, croupy Jacob sometime after 1:00 in the morning.  Both my kids are prone to a nasty, barking cough when sick, but usually we get a bit of warning in the form of cold symptoms and lethargy a day or so in advance.  This was different in its suddenness, and also its intensity: instead of horrible coughing followed by some pathetic-but-cuddly resting, he was struggling for each breath and starting to panic.  So when the tried-and-true response of sitting in the bathroom with the shower on hot didn’t work within a few minutes, I told Willem I was going to take him to the hospital.

“Really?” he said.  Not in a challenging way, more just surprise, since I’m not prone to packing up the children for middle-of-the-night jaunts.  At least, as much surprise as one can garner in the dark while still partially asleep.

I couldn’t offer a good justification, except that it just didn’t feel right.  This wasn’t a normal presentation for croup, at least not how we’ve seen it for the past eight years.  Maybe asthma, I thought, since Willem was diagnosed with allergy-related asthma last year and we are finally, despite concerns to the contrary, having some springlike weather in New Hampshire.  I didn’t know.

So off we went, and working at the hospital does have its privileges: despite the standing-room-only Passover and full-moon crowd, we were whisked into a private room, and seen by Bob, the head of the Emergency Department.  As soon as he was vertical and awake, Jacob was able to breathe easier, and it was tempting to just go home and go back to sleep, but Bob suggested a quick x-ray just to be on the safe side.  He was certain it wasn’t asthma, because of something-or-other and something-else, but wanted a throat x-ray to check for airway restriction and a chest x-ray since we would be in the neighborhood.

Jacob was thusly exposed to some early morning radiation and then run through a nebulizer just for kicks and giggles, and we waited a bit for Bob to come back with the x-ray results.  When he came in, he sat down and looked at me oddly.  “You said he hasn’t been sick recently?”  Completely sure; we’re always a little more aware of the kids’ health when my sister is visiting, because she has a gift for dramatic illness.  “And has he been wheezing, or struggling to breathe?”  Not that I could tell, but here’s one of the times when being hard-of-hearing is not a parenting advantage.  “Well… he has right middle-lobe pneumonia.  It shows up on all of the x-ray slides, so it’s not a case of movement or blurring.  His breath sounds completely fine now, and his oxygen sats are good, but the pneumonia is there.”

Fantastic.  Nothing I like better than hearing a life-threatening illness in reference to my baby.

So Jacob is on a 10-day course of antibiotics with an inhaler, no school for three days and a follow-up with his primary care physician tomorrow.  He still seems to be feeling fine, though he was lethargic and pale today.

He has been able to inject a few moments of sweetness into the experience, such as the fourth or fifth time that someone was listening to his breath with a stethoscope at the hospital.  “What do you suppose they’re listening to?” I asked him.  “Do you think they can hear the hot dogs you had at the Rainforest Cafe?”

He gave me an indulgent, you-poor-thing look.  “No, Mom.  They’re listening to my lungs.”  Oh, pardon me, Dr. Jacob.

Then, this morning, as Mary was getting ready to leave, she asked for a hug.  Jacob stood across the room, wanting to hug her but paralyzed.  “I can’t hug Mary.  I don’t want to make her sick.”  So he threw her a hug, and then had his stuffed animal deliver a hug and a kiss for him.

He’s a trouper.  He just fell asleep, and with a little luck we’ll get through the whole night without incident.