Bad Timing

This is not what I needed today of all days.

28th March 2011

After a sleepless night for everyone and an increase in oxygen requirements and slowly worsening blood gasses, Wriggles was transferred from the respiratory ward to Intensive Care. Within 20 minutes she collapsed and was sedated and was placed on a ventilator.

28th March 2012

After a cough worsening, we went to bother our GP for the second time in 24 hours. We saw a different doctor who took us seriously and decided that we weren't going anywhere and rang through to the paediatric SHO at the hospital to refer us. Wriggles was slipping into respiratory distress as the call was made and the poor GP wrestled with the idea of bluelighting us or using "standard" hospital transport which would take over an hour. She decided that it was more urgent and so a flashy ambulance soon drove up. Off we went to our favourite place in the world, the Great North Children's Hospital where we trundled off to good old Ward 6, the Emergency Assesment Unit.

"Ooh hello, hasn't she grown!" chirped an old face as soon as we came in. Three doctors and two nurses instantly recognised us; it has been seven months but obviously we have hung around there far too much.

Thankfully, oxygen was not needed and it was a case of bringing down Wriggles temperature, heartrate and getting the wheezing under control. Seven hours later, just before 1am we were discharged. Mainly because there are no beds in the wards so it is a case of managing at home or being transeferred miles away. The poor sausage has a viral wheeze & viral rash, tonsilitus and a possible chest infection and a new trunkload of medication for the next week.

I know it is nowhere as bad as last year.

I know she is stronger.

I know this will be over soon.

But the timing is horrible. I have already been on edge due to the PICU anniversary week and this scare today has really shaken me. Every time we have been admitted, it sounds melodramatic, but it feels like a little piece of my heart breaks some more.

Everyone else I know gets to fight bugs at home. There may be sniffles doing the rounds, but none that lead to chronic or acute symptoms in my circle of mum accquaintances. It is a lonely world trailing in and out and sitting in 24 hour over-priced hospital cafes. I don't know how much more I can take before I am pieces. Every time, I think it is the last time. Until the next time when it all comes flooding back. I care less and less about the world that is not my daughter and am haunted walking up and down too-familiar corridoors. How can I get on with things when time after time my precious child is threatened?