Friday, February 01, 2008

Wasn’t One of the Seven Dwarves Named Wheezy?

That was our friend Jonah last night in the E.R. at Primary Children’s.

We can always tell when Jonah is having a really bad asthma attack: He stops talking to himself while playing video games.

Why?

Because he can’t breath.

Which is kind of a bummer. Breathing is fun! And useful! Everyone should try it!

I have the mildest case of asthma you can have and still call it a lung disorder. When I run and it’s cold or the air is soupy and pollution filled, I get a bit wheezy. Lame, when you consider that Jonah has turned pale and gaunt and blue-tinged in his life. And been hospitalized for this condition when he was much younger.

Which is not what happened last night. Last night was just a “normal, Jonah’s not breathing well at all, we better take him to the E.R.” dance that we have to do every now and then.

Last night he was coughing and wheezing and his voice was clipped when he spoke, like my emphysema-ridden, two pack-a-day grandmother’s voice used to be. We gave him Albuterol, which is a bronchial-dilator and usually provides acute relief. Unfortunately, if he is far down the road of “chest tightness,” the stuff we give him won’t work.

So we have to truck over to the E.R. and they give him the same stuff along with steroids, but from an industrial-sized vat and they monitor his heart rate. Because one of the side effects of Albuterol? Makes your heart explode. OK, not really, but it ramps up the heart to hummingbird levels. So they have to watch him while he breaths the Albuterol mist and 100% oxygen.

How did this happen?

Because I’m a bad parent, basically.

On Friday last, he ran out of his normal medicine (Advair) that keeps things under control. We tried to call in a refill, but he was out of refills. So the pharmacy had to call his Doc on Monday and get the ‘scrip refilled. Which meant that the stuff wouldn’t be ready until Tuesday.

I kept forgetting to pick the stuff up until last night, by which time he was well on the way to this mini-drama of wheezing and dashing off to the E.R. That was my job to get the prescription and I’m an idiot.

Oh, and he probably gets the genes for asthma and allergies from me, since I’ve sneezed twice while writing this and I’m essentially allergic to EVERYTHING. Is it furry? Yeah, I’m allergic to that. Does it have leaves? Yep, and I’m sorry I sneezed all over you. So I’ve passed that on to him as well.

But!

The good thing is that Jonah has a pretty healthy sense of what’s going on. Last night, laying in our bed and falling asleep I was talking to him:

“Sorry about all this, bud.”

“It’s OK, Dad. But you know, this is all your fault.”

So in the long run, he’s saving on therapy.

Jon scribbled this mess on 02/01/08 at 11:41 AM, best we can tell it fits in the category of Photos Regular Post. This many folks had something to say about that, The permanent home of this entry is here: Link

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