Fourteen years ago, it was conference championship week. Mike was gone. Patrick was a tiny baby and I was home with three little boys. A particularly nasty combination of RSV and reflux made Paddy very sick and very vulnerable. A nice home health nurse came to the house and taught me how to use a nebulizer. As she was leaving, she said, "Just watch him closely; if he stops breathing, call 911." I didn't sleep for weeks.
Since that winter, we've had six more babies. All but one of them have made friends with the nebulizer. All but two of them have had RSV.
Sarah Anne is sick. She's got reflux that is so common to premature babies. And she's got an all too familiar wheeze. The bright side is that she does not have RSV. One of the perks of being a premie is that she qualified for a series of monthly shots that protect her from that very dangerous virus. So, it's "just" reflux and an ordinary virus.
Once again, the nebulizer hums its familiar tune. That trusty nebulizer is just as much a part of March in our house as basketball conference championships are. I think we've gotten our money's worth out of that particular "household appliance."