At our pediatrician’s office this morning, our doctor diagnosed Sigourney with restricted airways disease. This will be confirmed (or not) when we finally get in to see the fancy breathing doctor in December.
After more than a year of listening to her cough get better, get worse, get worse, get worse, get a little better, “a lot of coughing today,” “cough seems worse,” up for hours in the middle of the night hacking, bronchitis, pneumonia, “mommy, cough hurts,” *cries*, week break from cough, cough get better, get worse, get worse, get worse…well, today was the day the doctor said:
Enough is enough!
You get to learn how to use a nebulizer.
I did not know that inhalers were not readily available for two-year-olds. I pictured toddlers running around with those little breath sticks in their pockets, pumping themselves up like it was Binaca. Now that I think about it, maybe there is a reason that two-year-olds don’t get the asthma snorters.
This nebulizer is quite a thing. It’s like a little project for each night. Instead of running around like a tiny little maniac per usual for the after-dinner hour, we get to:
- Do some mysterious things to get the drugs into the cuppy thing.
- Plug a loud, vacuum-sounding thing into the wall.
- Put a mustard gas mask on a toddler.
- Try to entertain her for a dose of each of her meds.
- Breathe in her meds with her. I feel better already!
Tonight was fairly successful. But I do wonder how long before the novelty of “Look, Sis-tah! Mask! Look, Sis-tah! Med-sin! MY med-sin!” wears off and we have to resort to, well, the doggy nebulizer.