Throughout my whole life, I've heard various family members countlessly recollect their memories of my childhood asthma: overnights at Boston Children's Hospital, numerous emergency trips to the local ER, oxygen tents, steroids and various other treatments. Scary stuff.
As a mother, it's always been in the back of my mind that my children could likely suffer from asthma as well. While I am fully aware that there are worse conditions my children could suffer, experiencing difficultly breathing is still scary on any scale. Especially when it's your own child suffering.
As January ended, we had our first scare with Julia. I had come home from work and Julia was napping, but our nanny told me that she was very congested and coughing a lot. As soon as Julia woke up from her nap, I knew something wasn't right and immediately called her doctor, who was able to see her immediately. Julia was struggling to breathe and diagnosed with bronchiolitis, essentially bronchitis in infants. She was given a breathing treatment in the doctor office and we were sent home with a loaner nebulizer and a prescription for one week of treatments. I immediately asked the doctor if this incident was any indication of early asthma and my mind wasn't put at ease with her answer of "it could be or it couldn't - it's too early to tell."
After treatments and a check-up, we were assured that Julia was back to normal. Thank God.
Fast forward one month, to early March, when Julia had a runny nose and seemed tired. A cold. We didn't think much of it. Saturday afternoon, we went to a St. Patrick's Day parade and spent time outside that afternoon watching Frankie play in the melting snow piles. By dinner time, Julia was breathing very deeply, but without audible wheezing. At bedtime, I laid her in her crib thinking rest would be good. After about 20 minutes, I noticed on the monitor that she wasn't sleeping. Just laying on her back (when she is normally a belly sleeper) and breathing heavily. I could see her chest and stomach moving up and down with each breath. Something wasn't right. I went in her room and plucked her out of her crib and told Frank, who was giving Frankie a bath, that I was taking her to the ER. The nurses tested her oxygen and it was 90. Dangerously low. She was given albuterol to relax her muscles immediately along with blow-by oxygen and an IV for fluids. Not quite comprehending the severity of the situation, I was thinking we would be released shortly, once her breathing stabilized. But then the attending doctor came in and said "your daughter is very sick"...."need to transfer her to a pediatric ICU." Julia would need to stay on treatments every two hours and remain under close watch until she was able to space her breathing treatments out to every 4 hours without any sign of wheezing. It was so much to comprehend.
So, Julia and I were transferred from Virginia Hospital Center to Georgetown PICU via ambulance where we stayed for two nights. She was on antibiotics (for an ear infection), an IV (for fluids), oral steroid, breathing steroid and albuterol. Thankfully after the first night, Julia was able to start three hour stretches in between her treatments. She was such a trooper. Keeping a toddler stationary is not easy, but with lots of books, videos on the iPad and her stuffed animals, she did great. On Monday morning, when the doctors entered her room during their rounds, she stood in the crib, waving and saying "hi!" By the second night, she mastered sleeping through the breathing treatments. And then after that second night, we were told she could go to every 4 hours and may be released!
So, for now, the plan going forward is to start her maintenance steroid at the first sign of a cold in hopes she won't progress to an asthma episode. And watch for obvious triggers - pollen, pets, etc.
The whole experience was quite scary, but we are grateful it wasn't worse. And it was a good reminder that we are lucky to have healthy children and access to amazing care. And just how delicate and precious life is.
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