David stopped breathing this morning at five o'clock and it woke me up. And then there was a gasp and all kinds of wheezing coming from his side of the bed.
I got up and found the nebulizer and fixed him a fresh batch of albuterol cocktail.
He and Caleb are supposed to be going on a Klondike campout tonight.
He said between wheezes, "I'm going to die in that tent tonight."
I told him that in all likelihood he probably wouldn't die, but that it may, indeed, be a very long night. Regardless of his imminent demise, he has plans to put on his tie and blearily sit through some meetings today. Even now he is simultaneously puffing away on the nebulizer and putting his blackberry through its paces.
When Caleb came to ask what was for breakfast, he quietly added that he had thought he had a cold. He does. His whole face was running. (Truth be told, I am just relieved that it's not E.coli. I've been on high-alert ever since our little live cultures were delivered.) I tried (hard) to talk him into staying home, but he said he had two tests. I sighed and told him to call me after they were over.
However, Ethan was still in his pajamas at breakfast, where he announced that he was too sick to go to school.
"My neck hurts."
"Inside or out?"
He is staying home. No cajoling needed. Letter G can wait. I snuggled him back into bed, with promises of soup and apple juice and a Home Alone marathon when he wakes up.
I propped David and Caleb up with day-time cold medicine and resignedly sent them on their way. But, I'm thinking now that I should have switched the dosage to the night-time stuff when they weren't looking, because my patient-load should really be three.