Apologies that this post, which I wrote yesterday, accidentally clobbered yesterday's picture of the day instead of going here where I intended. Guess I was even more tired than I realized. Anyway, I fixed that little problem, and here's the post. It's updated with today's news as well.
As you might have guessed from some of my recent twitter posts, Rowan got very sick this weekend. He had a little sniffle on Thursday, no fever, and the same thing on Friday. He was his normal playful self; we just had to chase him down with tissues every now and then. But Saturday morning he woke up breathing fast and shallow, and despite using his breathing medications as often as permitted on their prescription labels, his condition continued to worsen. During dinner I realized how serious things really were, and I called his pediatrician's office. The doctor on call instructed us to take Rowan directly to the hospital -- not to go to the closest one, but instead to go a few minutes farther to the larger hospital that has a pediatric emergency room. When we arrived, I gasped to learn that there was a 5-hour wait in the lobby. But when the triage nurse got a respiratory rate of 70 (breaths per minute; "normal" would be around 30), our precious one was whisked inside. Within minutes he was in a hospital gown, had oxygen and heart rate monitors hooked up to him, and had been assessed by a nurse, a respiratory therapist, and a pediatrician.
It's amazing how a few hours changes things. You know, I used to get very emotional about the plight of animals, especially dogs. I used to get teary-eyed watching commercials for pet adoption, and I've been known to take extreme steps, inconveniencing myself and my loved ones, to rescue some poor animal. But yesterday the sight of Rowan's nurse pulling a tiny hospital gown out of the cabinet caused a bigger reaction inside me than the sight of any wounded or homeless animal ever has. This is because not only did I see this kind nurse unfold and hand to me a tiny blue, warm flannel hospital gown, I also saw the tall stack of clean gowns remaining in the cupboard. I imagined the babies who would wear those clean gowns, what their families might be going through, and the feeling of utter vulnerability I share with them. This is a broken, broken world.
We're doing our part to clean things up for Rowan, though. On the advice of his pediatrician as well as the ER doctor, we're withdrawing him from preschool effective immediately. The great news is that Ms. Erin, whose son Ander is just a little younger than Rowan, has enthusiastically agreed to begin keeping Rowan on Tuesdays and Thursdays! Tom and I are both wholeheartedly enthusiastic about the new arrangement. Ms. Erin goes to our church, is a Spanish translator by trade, and is a seriously creative, energetic person. She and Ander will be a huge blessing for Rowan not only because of the quality of time he'll get with them, but because they'll expose him to a teensy fraction of the viruses he was getting exposed to every time he attended preschool. We have no delusions that nobody will get sick anymore, but we expect the frequency of illness to decrease dramatically. Well, Grandmommy has arrived here to once more spoil Rowan while I work on a paper deadline, so off I go to work!
