Passing on the Asthma
I called the school at 8am, half an hour before he was expected to be in school. The para told me that there were a couple of kids who were out sick. Now I know where he got it. He was telling me I couldn’t stay home because he knew my boss was at work. I told him he was more important than the boss. I was definitely very concerned about his state as this was one rare occasion when I didn’t even worry about working from home or taking the day off. I just had to take care of my boy. I logged on and had the system up and running — but I was focused on Angelo.
By mid-morning, he was very clingy and obviously in great discomfort. My pediatrician was supposed to be back from a month-long vacation in Manila — what a relief it was to hear her voice answer her line instead of her out-of-office message. Angel’s difficulty was so apparent she actually heard his labored breathing even as he had his head resting on my shoulder and I was calling from the cell. She told me to bring him in at the first opportunity.
Big problem. Alan was at work, and the earliest he could come was after lunch. We were precisely trying to avoid that as it would mean Angel would have to wait his turn. The doctor wanted to see him before anyone else. So I called for car service and brought him in. Still no fever, but he was obviously in distress. He still refused his favorite snack or breakfast. (He was very sick indeed!)
The doctor could not make an outright prognosis that it was asthma — or maybe I just didn’t catch that being explicitly stated, but she was treating it as asthma. I went home carrying a nebulizer, and we headed straight to the pharmacy to pick up the medication to go with it. I have a five-day dose of Prednisolone to go with it which I will start tomorrow.
Did I say I have been up since 3am? The prescription for the first 24 hours is a dose of the nebulizer every 3 hours, through the night. I have managed a short nap here and there. I’m just grateful that he dozed off this afternoon, and he’s up and about playing again, still coughing, but the breathing is not as labored as it was before the nebulizer. I will live.
As we walked to the bus stop from the doctor’s office, I purposely walked slowly and held his hand. Part of me felt a tinge of regret that I had passed on to him something I had lived with all my life. While my asthma is more of an allergy, it has been something that I’ve had to accommodate. I was really hoping Angelo would be spared. Alan and I were so relieved that he had perfect eyesight, whereas Alan had started wearing thick eyeglasses from the tender age of three. (They knew something was wrong with his eyes because he kept stumbling into things.) I had a false sense of security when the doctor assured me his coughing bouts in the last four years were never anything close to asthma. My asthma had set in almost right after birth.
He’s had three doses today and he’s all over the place playing again. He’s started eating. And he’s intently watching Noggin again. (“Mommy, can you give me some juice please? I’m thirsty.”) Tomorrow we switch intervals to 4-6 hours between doses. I’ll live. Anything to help my boy breathe. As someone who’s lived with asthma all these years, I know how hard it can be.
I know he’ll be able to cope better than I did with all the medical advances. He’ll be fine. For all we know, the prognosis might yet be something other than asthma. Keeping my fingers crossed again.
