Imagine: just last night, I was sitting down to the computer, deciding that I needed to add an entry to the blog, and considering the many topics I could write about -- our recent and wonderful trip to Halifax (such good times with good friends and family), the fun I've been having with Chris away (not rinsing the dishes before they go in the dishwasher), the election (the results of which we actually sat and watched all night...granted, we had dark-and-stormies in hand...), or my gardening efforts, which are enthusiastic but uneducated -- before I decided that I was just too tired to be creative and threw myself onto the couch with a mug of hot chocolate until bedtime.
At 11 (darn Mentalist drags me in every time!), I turned off the tv, put the mug (unrinsed! ha!) into the dishwasher, and headed upstairs to brush my teeth and put on my jammies. And fell into bed.
Not to sleep, however; I was too thirsty. I had taught Attack at 5:30 while a babysitter (score!) watched the kidlets, and still wasn't adequately rehydrated. But I was tired enough to debate the whole rolling-over-to-pick-up-my-water-glass question, followed by what-if-I-drink-too-much-and-then-have-to-pee deal. Important issues, indeed.
Before I know it, in my dozy, semi-conscious state, it's about 2 minutes to midnight. I think I hear Ailsa breathing, which is odd, because her door is closed, and her white noise machine (aka broken clock radio) is on. And also, hearing her breathing? But at exactly midnight (this may explain the freckle behind her left ear), she woke up loudly, with a very odd-sounding cry.
So I drag my self dizzily out of bed and stagger in to confirm that yes, I CAN hear her breathing, and that's really not a good thing. My first thought, of course, is asthma attack. Bad. I pick her up and can feel the wheezing, as well as an odd barking cough.
Mommmmm! Oh right, she's away. On a cruise. Again. Waaaaa....
To Telehealth! Luckily, the computer is still on (see Chris is away, above), so I pull up the number in seconds, and I'm transferred to Brad, a very helpful RN who hears some of her noises and tells me to run a hot shower and sit with her in the steam. Almost immediately, her breathing gets easier.
Croup, he says. He also says that she should be fine, but, since it's her first time having it and she's under a year and I'm all alone and it's past midnight and Vaughn is sleeping which means not just taking one kid into the emergency room, but waking a dragon and bringing it along too, well, heck! Go to the emergency room.
We pull into CHEO at about 12:30, then sit in the waiting room for an eternity.* Eventually, a nurse comes in and gives Ailsa an oral steroid (good for building baby biceps) (and anti-inflamm-ing bronchial tubes), that will kick in "in about 4 to 6 hours".**
Finally, we get led to an examining room, where first a resident and then a fellow poke at my less-wheezy-but-eerily-delightful baby. Vaughn is his usual personable self, despite it being now 3 am. I know that I will pay for this tomorrow.
We're home by 3:35 am, the kids are unceremoniously dumped into their beds, and I drink a full glass of water before wiping out into my big, lonely bed (snif)... to sleep, perchance to dream...
Vaughn let me sleep till 7:05. What an angel!
Ailsa's a bit fussy today, and has only had short little naps, due to her little seal cough, but is otherwise coping. Vaughn's a bit more of a Vaughnster than usual, to the point that he was whisked out of his bath before he was fully scrubbed. But they both did amazingly well last night, and I guess one day of punishment for Mom isn't too bad.
But tomorrow's another day....what's next?
* I'm not exaggerating. YOU sit in a hospital waiting room, past midnight, and watch Hannah Montana, followed by Cory in the House, and then Phil of the Future (or something), and see how quickly time passes. It doesn't.
** Note that this is still shorter than a single episode of Hannah Montana.