A scarey huffy puffy time

Remember all that stuff I wrote about enjoying the journey and it being ok if you end up somewhere you hadn't planned? Well, bin it. Forget I ever wrote it. We've just had a little adventure that we'd rather we didn't have.

It all started on Wednesday with our Monkey Boy producing some snot, a lot of snot. Then by Thursday there was a cough and a little wheezing, a doctor's visit and misdiagnosis. Overnight Monkey Boy's wheezing increased, he would wake in a panic and then vomit. The only one who slept was baby Bugalugs who was blissfully unaware of the unfolding drama. Having faith in the doctor's diagnosis that it wasn't asthma, just a cold, we didn't take him in to hospital overnight, but now we know better. By Friday morning our little Monkey Boy couldn't speak a single word without pausing to breathe. On arriving at Emergency the triage nurse ushered us straight into the Resus Room and our poor little boy was nebulised and ventilated pretty heavily. He was scared and pale, crying and weak. I now know that asthma can come on suddenly and dramatically in someone who'd never shown a symptom in the past.

It's not a lot of fun for a 21 month old in hosiptal. His father, who was running on about two hours' sleep for the past two nights, stayed with him overnight as they ventilated him every hour. We were eventually allowed to bring him home on Saturday afternoon.

Monkey Boy is now learning to accept his puffer. As I watch him sitting in his high chair, cuddling his sippy cup of apple juice and refusing his day sleep (again!!!), I'm still shellshocked and incredibly thankful that it all turned out ok.