Wednesday, February 29

The Fear.

I don't really want to write another down hearted post again after yesterday's weigh in, but Wriggles has got a sniffle.
I know, I know. About 90% of babies and children and a large population of adults right now have a sniffle. If it is not one bug, it is the other bug doing the rounds. Basically, it's still technically winter and everyone has the lurgy or if they are lucky, is just getting over it.

It has been months, five long months in fact since the last bug. But hearing her snuffle and cough is enough to set my adrenaline cursing round my body and reaching for the holdall which I have always used as the Hospital Bag. On autopilot, I reach for the phones to check they are charged and that I still have the out-of-hours doctor and NHS Direct stored. I panic; have I got enough cash for a taxi just in case? Last spring to autumn I always had spare money in the house as bundling an ill baby into a taxi headed for the nearest A&E became a weekend hobby. I knew the postcode to the doctors surgery by heart and could recite all medical history and current medication in seconds.
I could, and still can, speak 'their' language "Yes doctor, my daughter is presenting with sub- and inter-costal recession with evidence of a tracheal tug and respiratory rate of 70...." better than I can sit at baby groups and talk about which brand of teething powder is superior or whatever some of the baby cliques talk about.

I was not even approaching neurotic before I had my daughter. I worried a lot, but not slightly like I do now. Not that this surprises me; having children is the greatest responsibility you could have, aside from maybe running a country or looking after desperately ill people. But I wish I could relax just a little bit. Come on brain. Five months; that's five months of getting stronger, five months of growing up, five months of immune system recovering and lung tissue being able to mend. A lot can happen in five months, she could squash this bug flat in one go now!

The mad part of my brain, or one that remembers things, is on edge though. A sniffle is all it can take. That is how it can start. Is that baby eczema or a viral rash? Teething symptoms or an internal fight? A grumpy mood or disguised pain? Do I have enough clean socks if we did have to go to hospital again? Does Wriggles? Is Ward 2 still Ward 2? Will they remember us by sight and happily pull out our file of notes that barely leaves the ward? Have I got enough saline drops and Calpol to try and take the edge off? Is her inhaler by her bed if we need it in the middle of the night? Is the car seat still an OK size?

In a week I want to look back over at this and laugh at the mad ramblings of a worried mother as Wriggles zooms around the flat. I want to be able to celebrate the first bug at home. Alright, it's not as jolly as first birthday or Christmas but my goodness, would it be an achievement. For tonight though, I held her that little bit tighter as I put her to bed, raising it at an angle. The door is wide open and my ears are pricked up, ready and waiting. I am looking forward to the morning. Daytimes are less scary than nights.

1 comment:

  1. I'm reading this as smidge is wheezing away next to me at at 50 BPM with mild recession.
    Having a Prem just puts motherhood in a whole new category doesn't it?