"Kathryn is having a hard time breathing," said Kat's teacher today at 2.50pm.
I instantly felt all the anxiety and weight of these words as if it were her first preschool teacher calling with the exact same phrase. Well, one tiny difference, at 2.5 Kathryn was Katie Beth, but the feeling of your child having a hard time breathing is perhaps one of the scariest things I have ever lived through. I thought those days were behind us. We had been doing so well.
2:51pm, I drive to school, talking to the pediatrician's nurse the whole way. All 1/2 mile. But in school traffic and with crossing guards, it felt like an eternity getting to Kat. School is out at 3pm so I am navigating all the afternoon traffic of an elementary school releasing 500 students.
2:54pm I park illegally. Well, half illegally, I park on the street. Half the car is in a parking space and half the car is on the parallel lines that mean "don't park here." I bolt from the car daring anyone with my crazed look to say something about my parking job. I run up the steps to the school, kids are spilling out, parents are piling up, and I am afraid they won't let me enter since this is the "walker" exit not the school entrance. I squeeze past the teachers probably looking sufficiently panicked and dash down the hall to Kat's class. Sitting peacefully and sipping a Capri Sun, Kat bursts into tears. I describe her breathing to the nurse, who had been trying to calm me down the entire way to Kathryn.
2:59pm The nurse decides we need to come to her and the doctor, not the hospital, which is a relief even though it is farther then the hospital.
3:04pm We walk quickly out of the school. I have to repeatedly tell myself to slow down...my child is struggling to breath, we don't need to add running to the mix.
3:23pm We arrive at the doctor, and we are seen immediately.
3:25pm "She is wheezing like crazy," exclaims the pediatrician. Quickly hooking into a breathing machine, Kat settles into read a book. I am praying for calmness and clarity.
3:42pm The breathing treatment ends, doc listens to her breathing, and we start all over again. "Wheezing is some better, but breathing is not under control," explains the doc. "We will give her a steroid drink and complete another breathing treatment." Nasty tasting medicine and hooked back into the mask.
4:03pm Doc returns and breathing is even better; "No hospital for now. The next 24 hours are critical, we are going to continue liquid steroids and breathing treatments every four hours. Return here tomorrow so that I can listen to her breathe. If she labors or wheezes any more than she is now, call us and go to the ER. No school tomorrow."
4:27pm We trudge to the car with 3 prescriptions and an appointment for tomorrow.
4:41pm We trudge into grocery store for juice, Popsicles, and other provisions.
5:17pm We arrive home, Kat changes into pajamas, eats dinner, and begins watching a movie.
I am exhausted. Many, many decisions to make and plans to change since the words, "Kathryn is having a hard time breathing."
Words are powerful.
Words evoke strong emotions.
Words kindle rational and irrational responses.
Words can help process.
Words create tears.
Words can steady.
Words are powerful.
