Tuesday: The Downward Spiral of Croup

So, at this point, I am heading towards 36 hours of wakefulness with the croup. For those of you who are unfamiliar with the croup, it is a swelling of the vocal chords and trachea. It gives children a cough that sounds like a seal's bark, and it is seriously sad sounding. It will give you some hard-core guilt, it is much worse that when the baby's hands and feet get cold in the jog stroller, or when you are on a long car trip and the crying starts. My day started at midnight last night and I am surviving now on coffee, tea, and the promise of a better tomorrow.

Last night when we arrived home from my Aunt and Uncle's Christmas party, I thought that I would give Ivan a steam bath, and we would all sleep happily ever after. Ah, but no, friends, I got into bed at 11:00 PM and Ivan woke himself up with his wheezing at 11:45ish PM. I rocked him in a panicky mom fashion until 12:00 AM, when I put him in our bed.

In bed with us, I, as usual, began with the delusion that our family bed would be peaceful and we would all be comforted by our togetherness. The fact that I harbored even the faint idea that the family bed would work for the Sloans is as indication that my state of mind was clearly incoherent.

It was three kinds of terrible. It was like the Hindenburg and the Titanic combined. Anyway, at 12:45ish, I began getting kicked in the head while Ivan wheezed. He then kicked me in the collarbone for another half-hour as I nervously tried to read American Lion. I worried about his breathing and WORRIED about his breathing. By 1:30 AM, I realized that we were not going to be able to stay in bed. He was awake and miserable and kicking like a kangaroo. I took Ivan to his bedroom and rocked him over the humidifier while he coughed and wheezed. This lasted until 3:00 AM, at which point I decided that we would watch The Wiggles while sitting upright.

We watched four episodes of The Wiggles. I just want you to know that Anthony Wiggle, who formerly held my affection, is not as attractive at 3:00 AM, or 3:30 AM or 4:00 AM. I call it quits with Anthony Wiggle, his Wiggle World, and his effeminate dancing that manages to come across as charmingly heterosexual all the same.

I put Ivan back to bed breathing relatively well at 4:30 AMish, at which point I got back in bed. Ivan was back up and miserable at 6:30 AMish, but Elliott handled it. I was back up at 7:00 AM to start stalker calling the Doctor's office.

Elliott, Ivan and I staggered into the Doctor's office at the earliest appointment and got a prescription for prednisone, which I thought would cure everything. I knew it could cause a bit of wakefulness, but I thought it would cure the dreaded wheezing that I would call a death rattle in a man 90 years older than my son.

Ivan was having none of his medication. We gave him four doses of prednisone, and he vomited four times immediately after administration. The fourth time, he vomited the entire contents of a bottle the length of the den to the kitchen. The third time, aaaaah well, I would just like to say that if you have never had a toddler vomit the contents of last night's dinner into both bra cups, then you haven't lived. Or you have, or you don't want to, or something.

So, Ivan was unable to keep down any of his medication, and he continued wheezing and refused to sleep. I did have some sort of breakfast, but I never had lunch. I have been holding Ivan since we left the doctor's office. I have given him approximately six steam baths. Then, miraculously, Ivan fell sound asleep while I was holding him and getting brown rice ready to go with dinner one-handed. I put him in bed, and he went right down without a wheeze.

I am waiting for it to all fall apart, but right now we are at three hours of sleep, I have painted my nails a color called "vampire state building", and I am about to crawl in bed with American Lion. It was all worth it for these three hours.

The pic is us on Christmas day, in happier times, when we were all breathing easy!!!