I am drained.

I was on call Sunday.
It was mild, in relation to how busy this sick season has been this year.
Lance had to work.
Beckham was being sweet.
And Maddox played outside.
All.  Day.  Long.

After dinner, Maddox told me his throat hurt and he needed medicine.

I rarely ever give our kids medication, at all, but he looked run down and beat-- and like we were minutes away from fever.
He wanted to lay in my bed for a while before he had to go to his own and he seemed like he was laboring to breathe.
I watched him for a minute, and then decided to get my stethoscope and listen.

His upper left lope was nothing but wheezing and he was visually laboring.

Now.
Lets back track to where I remind you that I was on call.

If you were to call me to tell that your 4 1/2 year old, non-asthmatic child was panting, wheezing, and complaining of a sore throat, I wouldn't give you another minute to finish your story-- and you would be ER bound.
As a matter of fact, I most likely sent a couple of kids to the ER that night for similar symptoms.

But for my own child,
I decided to watch him.

A. Because we still don't know which kidney we are going to have to give up to pay for Beckham's adventure.
B. Because I know the wait at CCMC ER right now... plus I was on call...

But mostly, I have decided,

C. Because I am an arrogant idiot.

To paint you an even more ignorant picture of myself, I made him sleep in his own bed because the boys have been doing so well staying out of our bed since we moved them together, that I was afraid of jacking up our rhythm.

He was up by 7 :00 (although he usually sleeps until 830 or 900) and he seemed worse than the night before.
I went ahead and started showers and waited for the office to open.

Of course it is a Monday morning and they were already swamped with calls but our sweet nurse (and pal) told me to head that way.

On the drive there, I starting magnifying how bad he really was and wondering why I was so negligent to wait this long.

They swept us right back to a room,
Which was good.
Because my little non-asthmatic-- never had RSV-- never wheezed a day in his life-- little boy...
was satting 89%.

We had him take some good deep breaths and he got up to 93%.

It you aren't familiar what a normal read is...
it's 100%.
Anything over 95% is fine.

89%-93% is shit.
Pardon the French.

Dr G said he was wheezing in every lobe and we needed to start him on a nebulizer.

I hate that I do this, but of course I am ringing it up in my brain like an old-timey cash register-- the neb machine-- the meds-- are we going for a chest xray?-- to Cooks?--
I didn't know.
But I do know that our insurance sucks.

After a neb, he was still 93-94% but he cleared all but one lobe of the wheezing.

Dr Guthrie said he landed himself in a perfect storm of humidity, temperature, and pollen--
but she was certain that this was true asthma.
Maybe seasonal-- maybe the real deal-- there's no way to tell at this point.
But-- he has to stay inside to play for a few days while we get him under control.

We left with a cute little bear shaped machine, a prescription for steroids and Albuterol, a little boy in tears-- begging to not have to do any more treatments, and enough sample vials to get us through the night.

Gigi promised him a toy if he did his treatments without crying-- and after the 2nd one, he hasn't seemed bothered about them at all anymore.
(although he was sure to call my mom yesterday morning to remind her about the toy)

We did his treatments every 3-4 hours on Monday, and once during the night.

He seemed a lot better yesterday morning but we bathed and headed to get our prescriptions.

Which turned into an emotional day.
Our house payment went up $100 due to taxes changing and a shortage in escrow.
We waited 3 hours for our prescriptions.
I spilled a large cherry vanilla coke into my some-what expensive purse that was housing my brand new Iphone 5.
Maddox, who looked better, was still satting 91%.
I was mad at myself for making light of his panting and letting him wait...
I was sad for him that he's confined indoors in such awesome weather-- while all the neighbor boys were playing right outside the window...
I was unsure about sending him to school today...
or sports for the rest of his life.
I broke out in my signature stress rash... 
Call was terrible and each page took 10-15 minutes to get through, putting me behind.
Beckham cries.  And screams.  And demands this world to work his way.
Lance couldn't swaddle me up and make it better either-- instead he kept trying to joke with me like we were in the 7th grade.
I may have thrown the last of the Velveeta at  him when he perched on one foot and stuck out both his hands in the air like the karate kid; mocking my breakdown...
And then ran away crying, as Beckham walked around the corner with a chunk of Velveeta-- chomping into it as if it were an apple.
I found a  petechiae rash or weird bruise on Beckham that trickles from his hip to his knee...
and by 10:00pm last night,
I was convinced they both had cancer and there wasn't a crappier mom on the face of this earth.

Thank you God for great friends and an encouraging mom--
because it took more than one pep talk to make it through yesterday.

And crazy or not, I went ahead and bought our own pulse ox, to monitor Maddox' oxygen... and it was $40 well spent.
Because the little boy who "looked much better today" is still bottoming out every 4 hours or so-- and obviously I have already proved that I am terrible at assessing his status on my own.

***
People deal with asthma every single day.
I realize that.
But this is new to me.

People deal with unruly, hardly-happy, wild and reckless toddlers every day.
I know that too.
But it is still hard.

I just want to know how those people deal with the headaches, the tears and the tension around their upper back and neck....
because I will be honest--
as I was leaving Best Buy today, both Beckham and I crying... and him screaming-- only stopping long enough to gather his next breath and wail out again, body stiff, in a fit straight from hell-- I thought that being smacked in the head by a large frying pan, attacked by wild dogs or drinking so much wine that I peed on myself sounded like a more enjoyable way to spend my Wednesday.

And as I replayed Lance's voice saying, "He only acts like this for me.  He's so much better for you during the day."  As if me and the kids sprinkle glitter around the house, with perma-smiles and laughter while a fairy, whom we don't pay, cleans this house for me-- while he is at work-- and the 5:00 hits and Beckham removes his rainbows to reveal the inner monster just in time for Lance to take over.....
No.
I may have envisioned him playing with the dogs as well.
Or being bit.
A lot.

But then Beckham gave up and fell asleep--
and I breathed again.
And let go of my day dream of torture on Lance!

***
You know I hate to leave these entries on such a pissy note, so I'll also post a few funnies from the past week.
Or at least the ones I remember.

***
The other day B was on a terror and I said to Maddox, "Beckham needs a N. A. P.".
Of course he asked what that spelled and I made him sound it out.
Maddox's eyes got big and he said, "there's no telling what he will do with a PAN!"

On Saturday, Maddox and I slipped away for a little date over yogurt.
He asked me if I wanted him to take me to Egypt... or Paris... or Florida... or any other desert like that.
He asked me if I wanted to talk in French...
We chatted about "Turtle Ninjas", "Marmio brothers", and "Star Warriors"...
And we had the best time together.
While we were laughing and talking, the song, "Girl on Fire" by Alicia Keys came on, and without discussing it-- Maddox and I both interrupted our conversation at the same time to hit the chorus, in our best high pitched voices as if we were the only people in the yogurt shop, --"this.  girl is on fiiiiiiiire..."

I giggled because he's me.

Lance would have wanted to crawl under a table and would have certainly told me that was 'enough'-- but I loved it.

Both of my kids love music like me.
And to dance.

As soon as we get in the car, actually, I can always count on hearing Maddox saying, "get it B!" and to look back at Beckham rocking out with the most serious expression.

And as soon as there is music playing in my house, both my kids ask me to dance.
Even Beckham.
Without words, he smiles real big and holds out one arm and I know what he wants.
It is one of my favorite things.

One of his favorite things too.
Besides stealing my coffee.

This morning, he told on his self as I could hear him laughing as I rounded the corner.
Of course it had already cooled and there was no more than a mouth-full left in the mug.
But he thought he was getting away with something huge!

 Maddox was busy this morning too.
"Handling this war in China" that he built.
He kept moving them in different positions and asking me to take pictures of them.

And I can't forget to post these unrelated but awesome crafts the boys made.
They did an incredible job.

And to tell one final story on B.

At CFA on Monday after out appointment, a mom came over to tell me that my son was so sweet.
I am embarrassed to admit this, but I assumed she was talking about the one who gets those compliments a lot while we are out in public.  She went on to tell me that her little boy was crying and he came over and and hugged him and was patting his back.  Then she mentioned his adorable little shoes and Gap hat.
And I said, "the baby?"  ... and she said yes, he's very affectionate and I'd say that's a sign that he's well loved.

She had no idea how much I needed to hear that.

Or maybe she could tell that I was drained-- and just knew how to fill my cup.