Thomas' Big "Dabenture" (that would be adventure )

By now you've probably heard our story: how Thomas woke up with a mild cold and we decided to go ahead with plans to camp at the Indiana Dunes (4 hrs from home) with my family. His breathing grew worse until he was wheezing and working hard for every breath (grunting and retracting, in nurse speak). I'd love to say I was on top of things, but in my mind, for whatever reason, I was still expecting croup. It was my hubby who made the wise call to find a hospital and get him checked out (and we won't visit my feelings of remorse or my frustration at having missed signs that, as a nurse, I would have recognized in anyone else's child...). We found an urgent care facility close to the campsite and began breathing treatments. It soon became clear that he would need more care than they could give so he and I took a little ride in an ambulance. I've transported many babies by ambulance, but never my own. He is always noticing sirens and asking us to pray for the people needing help. As we prepared to leave I told him, "This time we'll be the ones in the ambulance, Thomas, just like the people you pray for. Do you think someone will hear us and pray for us?" I don't need to tell you I barely got the words out. Meanwhile, Micah had run back to the campsite to figure out a plan for the other kids. I'm sorry we weren't at home, but I'm so thankful my family was there. They kept the kids and then took them to Fort Wayne where they've been able to share time with both sets of grandparents. It was sometime in the early morning by then. We'd spent a full day camping and a full night in the ER after a very restless night with a stuffy boy the night before. We were exhausted, but Micah had to drive himself to the hospital in Chicago, a little over an hour away. I've never been so worried about someone driving (and he admitted that neither had he!), but thankfully he made it safe and sound. We spent a few exhausting hours in the ER before they finally had a room for us. He was on continuous breathing treatments for several hours and slowly (very slowly!) his breathing has improved. He was weaned to treatments every two hours, then three. Hopefully with the next one we can stretch to four and go home tomorrow. It's been a long few days to say the least, but we have turned the corner. Since this is his first episode like this, they're calling it a viral infection. But we've done asthma teaching and are going home with an Albuterol inhaler, and it seems very likely that a diagnosis (and more of these episodes ) are in our future. Needless to say, I will not be missing the signs in the future! There are so many thoughts and moments I could write about, both good and bad. But I think I'll close with this one. The first ER was incredibly traumatic for Thomas. His breathing was at its worst, it was the middle of the night, and it surely felt like everyone was giving him "ouchies," as he called them. He had had two IV attempts in one hand and labs drawn from the other (among other things) when he looked up and noticed a crucifix with Jesus on the wall in front of him. "Is that Jesus?" We nodded, wondering what question would come next. In our Protestant background, he hadn't seen many crosses that weren't empty, although he knows the story well. "Where are his ouchies? Are they on his hands?" I choked back tears and nodded. "Just like mine? Jesus had ouchies just like mine?" We nodded. Jesus knew what little Thomas was feeling. I wish I could describe the look that flashed over his tiny face. Peace. Comradery. A new bout of courage that he could endure ouchies on his hands just like Jesus had. Time just then didn't allow us to expound on it, but we didn't need to. That brief moment had preached an entire sermon, to us as much as to Thomas..