The past 36 hours have been stressful, exhausting, and just plain miserable. Robby went to bed Sunday night with the sniffles and complaining of a sore throat. At about 10:30 I heard him violently coughing. I slipped on my liner and leg and took off running to his room. I found him sitting on the side of his little race car bad, gasping for air.
After calming the cough in our bathroom converted to steam room, I dug out his froggy shaped humidifier and pulled out the sofa bed. I knew it was going to be a long night. I failed to anticipate just how long the night would become!
I slept wearing my liner for the rest of the night. Actually, slept is not the correct verb. I fretted, worried, and perseverated while wearing my liner. I wanted to be able to reach him quickly if he needed me, and I didn't want to lose those precious seconds that I would have required to don my liner.
Nights like Sunday night are the times that I despise being an amputee. I resent that my response time is impacted because of my reliance upon a prosthetic. I hate that I can't simply get up and run like my bi-legged mom friends. My ability to care for my son is hindered, albeit momentarily, because of my limb loss. Sunday night, listening to him cough and struggle rendered me feeling helpless. Much of mental energy was spent cursing my amputation during those hours.
Despite my lack of sleep, I am glad that I stayed in his room. Robby had two more coughing spells, the final one landing us in front of the doctor. Seeing him struggle to breath and starting to turn blue was utterly terrifying!
It turns out that I have a very sick little cowboy. In addition to a double ear infection and strep throat, he has pneumonia in both of his lungs. Armed with an arsenal of antibiotics and assorted prescriptions, a stock pot full of homemade chicken noodle soup, and a new Scooby Doo DVD, we are hoping for a speedy recovery.