In the last two and a half weeks I feel like all I've done is worry and count, count and worry.
Count the number of puffs, doses, hours, admissions and the number of times I've been close to losing the plot (I'd need to count higher than ten for that, so it's off the list).
Worry about whether I'm up to being this parent which is so far removed from my bordering on neglect "he'll be right" attitude.
One - the number of times we've needed an ambulance for Tricky
Two - the number of asthma attacks he's had
Three - the number of hospital admissions he's had
Four - the number of hours between ventolin when you're allowed home from hospital
Five - the number of times I've called the specialist only to get the answering machine
Six - the number of puffs of ventolin required every 20 minutes for three hours to stabilize him
Seven - the number of times he screams when woken up for medicine over night
Eight -the number of chips, dropped off to the hospital by a good friend, I can stuff in to my mouth when Tricky is finally asleep
Nine - the number of times per day I felt sorry for myself
Ten - the number of times per day I shook it off and thought how truly lucky we are
All in two and a half weeks. Ugh.
|Tricky giving the thumbs up for feeling better!|