Dont sweat the petty things, and don't pet the sweaty things

Last night was a rough one for us all. Actually, Macey and Faith slept just fine. Now that I think about it, Ryan did too. Okay, so it was a rough one for Brite and I. We spent 4 germ ridden hours in the ER at St. Rose Hospital. Brite woke up just before 1 am, coughing like a seal barks, and wheezing when she tried to breathe. It was very, very scary. I was tempted to call 911, but Ryan was convinced that she just needed a spray or two of windex and she would be fine. Although I am not completely against using windex, especially when there is a stubborn blob of toothpaste stuck to the bathroom mirror, something about a child not receiving air warranted a more drastic measure. My compromise was that I would drive her to the ER myself. Turns out poor Brite has croup. I realize it's very common, and there is a lot that can be done to treat the symptoms, but it is very scary when it is your own child turning blue from the lack of oxygen. Her oxygen saturation levels were very low, so they immediately did a breathing treatment through a nebulizer, which she DID NOT like, then gave her steroids to open up her airways. After a few more hours of monitoring her OSL's, and another round of treatment, the doc gave us the option to go home. I really felt like she could sleep better at home in my bed, and I would no longer fight the urge to vomit from the prospect of germs crawling up onto my flip flops, underneath my toe nails, breaching the blood vessels and killing my instantly. Oh, side note, sickest, nastiest, wrongest bathroom EVER.

So here we are today. She slept great at home. Her breathing is still a bit labored, but nothing compared to last night. I have high hopes that tonight will be better with the steroids that the doc gave us. I am glad we went. Even if we did catch 34 other nasty germs, at least this one is at bay for now. There is a reason Ry went to law school rather than med school... but if my babies are okay, then I have to let my nagging tendencies to stab him in the eye with a hot french fry subside. As someone once said, "Don't sweat the petty things, and don't pet the sweaty things." Both apply to him.