On Thursday I try to think, to remember, to mark the moment... I ask myself, “when?”.
He coughs once on Monday. I think. In the afternoon? Maybe?
He coughs... was it twice? Three times? on Tuesday. I only ask myself because there isn’t anyone else to ask. Did I notice it then, or was it Wednesday before it caught my attention.
It’s Wednesday. Is that a wheeze? It simmers in my mind. He was at his dads for the weekend, did he cough then? Does he cough at night and I don’t know? Is he coughing at school? But yes, on Wednesday, he is definitely coughing. But is it WHEEZING? I’m not sure... there isn’t anyone else to listen.
Thursday I think “oh! That is a COUGH!” but it’s just...a little... once in a while. No, not a wheeze. I wonder... Am I making the right call? Should he go to school? Will this get worse? What should I do? I am alone - the only one to make a decision. I ramp up the elderberry syrup and the immune support tonic and I vow to do an early bedtime. After school he is out of sorts. He coughs. I worry. I forget he is supposed to go to his dads so I put him in a hot steamy bubbly bath and serve him an early dinner and make him drink a lot of water. When his dad shows up, I ask him to just come in, stay, play, and let me put the little guy to bed early. He agrees. I feed him too - an act of gratitude for the hassle free situation. I say, “I might keep him home from school tomorrow - I’m just not sure...” He says, “whatever, it’s up to you”. I am so alone in this. “Should I take him to the clinic tomorrow? I hate to pay that co-pay for no reason, but if he’s sick...?”
He says, “whatever...it’s up to you”. I sigh. It’s always up to me.
Every decision is mine. If it’s right - I win. If it’s wrong - I’m at fault. Forever and ever, amen.
It’s Friday. He slept well. Woke up early because his bed was wet. All that water I made him drink. My fault. I help him get dry and warm. He’s cheerful and...coughing. Wheezing with the cough. I put my ear to his chest, listen hard. Listen harder. Put my ear to his back. Listen hard. Listen harder. No wheeze - but that cough sounds...dangerous. And wheezy. He cries. It hurts to cough. Ok then - no school. My choice. Right or wrong, I’m all there is to make the choice so this is it. No school. I’m alone.
And we’ll go to the clinic. We just won’t...buy teacher gifts... because we’ll pay the copay. It’s fine. Is it wrong to hope he’s sick so I can justify the copay?
My god! What is wrong with me!
I’m so bad at this.
We go to the clinic.
Alone. 2 hours. Just me and him.
Doc says, “no fever, lungs sounds clear, but yeah the cough sounds bad so let’s X-ray just in case”. I agree. I could refuse... I could. It’s a choice - is it the right choice? Weigh out the risk/benefit. Alone.
I agree - let’s X-ray. My choice.
Pneumonia.
Right lobe pneumonia.
Antibiotics and nebulizer treatments.
What if I’d sent him to school?
What if I’d refused the X-ray?
What if...
this time I won. I made the right choices.
Alone. Just me.
My fault? My “win”?
Tonight creeps by. I set up the nebulizer and he breathes in the medicated steam. Later he coughs so much he vomits. He cries. He’s scared. He wants to sleep in my bed. I agree to that - but I would have made him do it anyway - I’m the only one to listen for him, to hear him, to be ready to help at 2am so yes, sleep in my bed buddy.
I’m so tired. It’s not that it’s hard, or work, but the worry of it all sucks away my energy like a dementor from Harry Potter. I’m wiped out. I can’t stop tho because... I’m alone. There’s only me. Me and him.
So we lay together, watching Cat In The Hat and with me listening to him cough...and wheeze, and me imagining his pneumonia growing. Alone.
Except I still have to go finish the laundry from his bedding and make up his bed... and find the basin we use for night time vomiting just in case... and do those dishes from dinner... alone.
Sometimes “alone” looks like bubble baths and painting my nails and watching trashy rom-com’s while eating bbq pringles. Sometimes “alone” looks like worry-wrinkles, and dark circles exhaustion, and getting up to refill the humidifier at midnight just moments after you finally fall asleep. Sometime “alone” looks like spending your last $5 on a discount paperback for fun, and sometimes “alone” looks like hoping $20 is enough gas to get to next payday because between clinic copayment and medication, that’s all there is. All the time though, “alone” looks like carrying it all inside and praying God hears you and sees you and somehow still, trusting that He does.
