I sit as comfortably as I can in the provided recliner in the corner of a dim lit hospital room. Eli's heavy little body lays on top of mine, keeping me warm and unable to move. I can't help but kiss his head over and over and smell his sweet scent. His little lungs are working over time.
He gave us a mighty scare again. It started with a mild cold and after a day of sneezing and a runny nose, we shrugged it off as another cold on his fragile little immune system. He woke up a few times Wednesday night with labored breathing and wheezing. After a few nebulizer treatments, I noticed that there was no progress and after calling Marshall at work concerned, we thought it would be best to call and speak to a nurse and while I was on the line with the nurses, she could hear him struggling to breathe and communicate over the line and asked me to give him a new treatment and immediately told me to call 911. I did. Before we knew it, the paramedics were in my living room asking me questions and calmly speaking to Eli. I did my best to remain calm as Eli screamed and thrashed away as I was dripping with sweat and blinked away tears. I basically blacked out. Anything that was discussed, was forgotten. I kept Ezra in the house until a friend was able to come immediately over and watch him, and I woke Oliver up from his nap and quickly packed him up in his car seat and grabbed a few necessities for (another) long day in the hospital.
Eli did well in the ambulance. He enjoyed holding the paramedics flashlight and allowed them to treat him on the way. Eli's color never changed and his breathing was still hard. This wasn't my boy though. His eyes were heavy from the night before, his cheeks were rosy from the fight we had with the nebulizer before the paramedics arrived, his little belly moved in and out quickly and he smelt medicinal and musty. My heart was breaking. And I kept thanking the lord that we were in good hands. Even in living one of my worst nightmares of calling 911 for an ambulance and driving away with my child strapped in.... I was grateful to be cared for. I was grateful that this was all that was wrong. We all go on living our lives, thinking we have it bad, that our problems are the worst, or no one really understands. But I know this is not true. I know I am not alone, I felt the Savior in my life more than once this week and was reminded of His presence in every instance. I noticed this in conversations with greiving friends, or while arriving at another friends when they desperately needed an extra hand, or in a priesthood blessing reminding me that Eli's health was in God's hands and now that I look back, I realize how active my Heavenly Father has been in every second of my life. Our lives have been ran so busy the last couple months that I needed to call 911. I needed the paramedic to take me by the hand and help me take that step up into the ambulance and strap me and my children in. I needed to literally look in front of me and see my children's faces as we were being helped and quite possibly saved from something potentially traumatic. I needed a rescue from my worries and my stressors of motherhood and of all other responsibility that comes with life. I needed to let go and let life happen as intended. I felt in that complete blur of helplessness and panic, a calm. It was my faith that pulled the tires over the pavement. It was my patience in God's plan for us that allows me to find peace through this entire ordeal.
Marshall and I used to say that sleep was hands down the hardest thing about parenting, but when your child is sick and all you can do is stand by helplessly, I'd rather be awake all night long.
Kiss your children, hold them close and thank Heavenly Father with all the gratitude you obtain that they are yours.